


In The Dark

by fine_feathered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fine_feathered/pseuds/fine_feathered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean is left a grand manor in an unknown man's will, all of his troubles seem to be solved. Yet when he arrives there's a monster waiting for him, a nightmarish amalgam of different creatures. Dean soon realises that he is trapped in the middle of nowhere with no hope for escape or rescue.</p><p>To complicate matters further every night a 'man' named Castiel appears in his bedroom in complete darkness, never allowing his face to be seen. Castiel's touch brings both pain and pleasure and though Dean tries to resist it at first, he feels himself falling for the man he knows he should despise. Castiel feeds off of Dean's energy, gathering more power to break the curse upon him. Many have come before Dean, but this one, Castiel knows, is special and may just be his undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Other warnings: light non-con (groping) and Stockholm Syndrome.  
> Written for dc-dystopia (a challenge that asks for dark fics).  
> Absolutely wonderful art done for this fic found at: face-heel-turn(.)livejournal(.)com/2562(.)html

 

“You’re gonna be okay, I’m here to make sure you’ll be fine.”

 

The man was gasping, blood welling over his fingers where they danced on the edge of the knife embedded in his chest.

 

Dean’s hands moved of their own volition, unrolling padded gauze from his green medical bag and pressing it against the knife that protruded form the young man’s chest. Immediately, blood bloomed onto the ivory wrappings, the man’s eyes were becoming glazed, the shine of early Christmas lights hanging above them reflecting in the moisture of his tears. Dean’s partner Jo worked on the other side, cutting away the layers of his clothes to reach for his ribs, where she inserted a large bore needle.

 

Dean let out a sigh; it trembled on his lips as he felt the man’s final breath leave him, tears rolling hot over his cooling skin.

 

 

 

«

 

 

 

The television flickered, the buzz of static cutting through the late night infomercial for the smallest moment. Dean looked up at it, dirtied rag in his hands as he tried to wipe away the stubborn smell of antiseptic that clung to him after his patrol as a paramedic.

 

The orange face of the woman stretched into a grin as she presented a new form of vacuum cleaner, and Dean let the sales pitch wash over him, calming in the way it numbed him. Dean turned back to his work, scrubbing the old cloth over his calloused knuckles, picking at the fibers of gauze under his nails. His eyes leaden, his muscles burned out, and his mind a vaporous cloud. There was a creak of floorboards as Sam appeared, yawn stretching at his lips. “You should get some sleep.” He murmured as he half stumbled half walked into the adjacent kitchen, stretching up to grab a small glass from the cupboard.

 

Huffing out a breath, Dean stood from the couch and stretched out his aching back with a few audible cracks. “I should be saying that to you. Big day tomorrow.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned on the faucet, filling the glass. “I’ve studied, there’s no chance of me failing this course.”

 

Plopping himself down on one of the stools surrounding the kitchen bench, Dean quirked a brow, “It’s law school Sammy, don’t underestimate ‘em.” Yet after the warning a grin stretched at his chapped lips, “But I know how smart you are. You’re going to be a great lawyer.”

 

Draining the rest of his glass in one large gulp, Sam wiped a hand over his mouth and put the glass into the sink. “I will, otherwise you won’t ever get a break.”

 

With that Sam went back to his room, the sound of his door being closed allowing Dean to go back to the T.V.

 

The couch was hard and lumpy with unforgiving springs that jabbed into Dean’s bones, making aches grow into his skin. He glued his eyes back onto the screen, let the blue light bathe him.

 

There was a knock at the door. Then two more, in quick succession.

 

Rubbing at his eyes Dean pushed himself up from the couch, feeling a worm of annoyance niggling at the back of his head. Opening the door to the apartment he looked out but only saw the empty hallway. Huffing Dean took a step back inside his apartment about to close the door when something white caught his eye. On the floor was a letter, and on it was a long feather. Bending over, Dean picked up the envelope and left the feather where it was. For a prolonged moment he stood there, jade green eyes staring at the feather. With a lowly muttered curse he bent and snatched it up; for some reason he couldn’t leave it, it had felt wrong to abandon it.

 

Massaging his temple, Dean smiled thinly. Sam was right; he really did need to get a proper night’s rest.

 

He ran his fingers over the feather, which felt like silk and was strangely warm to the touch, as though it were an ember releasing the last promise of fire. Pinching the hollow quill between his forefinger and thumb Dean held it up to the light. Colours swam over it; iridescent like the surface of a diamond, the colours intermingled and played against one another as he twisted it in the light. Bringing it to eye level Dean put it to his lips, feeling the tip tickle his sensitive skin. Shaking his head, Dean jerked the feather away and stowed it in his jean pocket.

 

Next he turned his attention to the letter. The writing was in calligraphy, dark strokes stark against the thick paper. Flipping it over he was faced with a ruby wax seal, where a strange insignia was imprinted on it of a dove wrapped in a nest of sharp thorns. Breaking the seal Dean withdrew the letter and flicked it open, folded creases making it flop over. Laying it down flat on the petite table in the entranceway, Dean read it over.

 

_To Mister Dean Winchester,_

_I write to regretfully inform you that Mister Novak recently passed away. He has no descendants and in his will opted to leave his home and the contents wherein, solely to you._

_I feel the need to note that the property is of some worth but is in need of some repairs. It is located at:_

 

Dean looked at the address, the letters crawling and wriggling like living things, but the illusion soon passed and the words stood still. Dean knew of the area, in a vague second hand sort of way. It would be a long drive, isolated too. Chewing the inside of his lip, Dean mulled it over, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. He would have to get time off work, leave Sammy here for a little while whilst he patched the place up; he was good with his hands, good at fixing things people broke.

 

Taking the letter he folded it again and slipped it back inside the envelope where the wax seal gleamed in the muted light of the apartment. Pulling back his sleeve, Dean looked at his watch, the green numbers reading 12:07.

 

All he needed as a bag of clothes, some of his tools, and some sandwiches and coffee for the road. Deciding on his course of action, he picked up a pen from the table and scrawled a note for Sam, telling him of the good news and that he’d be back in a week tops. He signed it and put Sam’s keys on top, a thrill of joy running through him as he saw the college keychain he gave Sam when he had been accepted. He’d sell the property and everything in it, and that way he’d get Sam through the rest of law school. No more scraping by, no more chewing the skin of his knuckles as he stared at the laptop screen telling him his bank balance and his debt.

 

He’d get some rest, leave Jo and his supervisor a message telling him he’s finally collecting his holiday leave, and then with his bags he’d be on his way. Things were looking up.

 

«

 

His breath misted above his lips as Dean threw his duffels in the back of the Impala. The cold bit at his fingers, hungry for his flesh as he gripped the door handle and sidled into the driver’s seat. Again, something pale caught his eye, a feather innocuously resting on the dash. Twisting about in his seat Dean checked the back, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck, but there was nothing there except a few scraps of paper. Shivering, Dean wrapped his coat tight around him and blew into his cupped hands. The sun hadn’t risen yet, still sequestered below the horizon.

 

Slotting in the key Dean started the engine and, despite himself, put on the heating; he wouldn’t have to be frugal from now on. With that thought pulling at his lips he turned onto the street, listening to his baby purr like a contented cat. As he drove through sleepy city the streetlights began to flicker off and the sun began to peak over the dark line that bordered the sky. As he pulled onto the highway the sun stained everything in warm pastels despite the cool winter morning. In the rearview mirror the skyscrapers jutted out as black silhouettes and Dean knew Sam was getting up soon for his exam back there. His heart palpitated, thinking about Sam. He’d made some pancake batter for him, powder kind that boasts you need to “Just add milk!”, and a note saying: _Good Luck, bitch._

 

Rolling his shoulders, Dean stared at the road, watching as the yellow lines flitted past him. This wasn’t the time to reminisce. Flicking on the radio he relaxed into the leather seat and let Pearl Jam soak into him.

 

Hours passed and signs of civilizations began to dwindle away. Large suburbs downsized into quaint towns, and those towns turned to collections of sporadic businesses and houses until those too went, leaving only random gas stations that clung onto the business of the few travelers that passed by. Pulling over, Dean sighed and leaned over, popping the glove compartment. From it he got out a battered map book, which he laid out onto his lap. Flicking the pages he found the area, finger tracing over the veins of roads. “Not much further now…”

 

Tugging out his cell phone from his pocket Dean sent Sam a text. ‘Nearly there, I bet you did great on the test.’ Stowing it away, Dean pulled back onto the cracked bitumen road, where the yellow lines were faded and old.

 

«

 

The bitumen road turned into a narrow gravel path. “Damn it,” Dean muttered, thinking of the rocks that would flick up and scratch the Impala’s paint job. The road curved upwards and the Impala’s tires began to spin on the loose ground as it climbed up. Glancing out the window, Dean’s eyes tracked up to the tall snowcapped mountains surrounding him on either side, onyx monoliths that were surrounded by thick forests.

 

As the Impala climbed it reached the crescent, and the road once more began to slope downwards. Now, however, an old stone manor filled the window screen. Whistling, Dean let the Impala idle as he took the property in. The land surrounding the house was in a natural depression, uneven ground spotted by tall trees and clumps of haphazard shrubbery. In the distance he spied a smaller building with a triangular roof that if Dean had to guess it would probably be a chapel of some sort, which sat on the fringes of a wide placid lake. The manor itself was foreboding, with gothic arches and a slate roof that capped the building like an angry cloud. Pressing down slightly on the accelerator, Dean let the Impala slowly roll down the hill towards the gates that were composed of two roughly hewn stone columns topped with slumped angelic figures that held their faces in the palms of their hands. The delicately carved wings drooped from their shoulders like feathered capes. A shiver ran down Dean’s spine. “Well this isn’t creepy at all.”

 

The wrought iron gates were open, swaying gently in the breeze as Dean guided the Impala through, hand relaxed on the battered leather steering wheel as he followed the dirt path. Once he was near enough to the house, Dean stopped the car and pulled out the key. When he stepped out the winter frost bit into his cheeks, stealing the heat of the car in only a moment as he walked around to the back and pulled out his duffels. Shouldering them both he walked up to the front door, thick oak bracketed by iron. When he pressed against it, it immediately swung open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom inside, but soon shapes began to form.

 

The entranceway faced into a large open space, revealing a set of wooden stairs that curled up onto the second storey. To his right there was a curved entranceway into what appeared to be a sitting room, bookcases stretching up to the roof and filled with musty tomes that lent the air the scent of yellowed pages. To his left, through another stone archway, there was the dining room where the glint of ornaments cut through the shadows. Turning to it, Dean approached the long table and grinned. Gold and silver statues littered the table, silver bears with sapphire eyes, a golden mermaid curled jealously around a rock made of smooth jade, a marble dove with a gold olive branch in its mouth, and many other such items littered the table. Above it all hung a wrought iron candelabrum, dusty light bulbs topping the arched corners.

 

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Dean spoke through the grin, “This will do nicely…even if nobody wants to live in this creepy ass place.”

 

Tugging out a chair the legs squeaked against the old floorboards and he sat himself down, dumping his duffel bags on the floor. Rummaging through one of the bags he pulled out a Clingfilm wrapped sandwich and a thermos of coffee. Leaning back in the chair he put his food on the dust-laden table and stared out across the precious objects. The sun streamed in through the lead lined windows, cutting through the cloud cover to highlight a peculiarly shiny area of the table. Dean pursed his lips, noting the circle where dust was absent, almost as though someone had sat there, frequently and only there. Twisting in his seat, Dean followed the path someone would look, had they sat there. A perfect view of the lake was afforded, as well as the old stone chapel that sat beside it.

 

“Must’ve been Novak.” Shrugging off the unease that germinated in his belly, Dean took a bite of his pork and mustard sandwich, chewing it slowly as he took intermittent sips of steaming, bitter-cheap coffee.

 

A prolonged creak, a mournful whiny of old timber broke the silence. The sound came from the ceiling above Dean’s head, causing dust to fall from the rafters. Immediately Dean stood and pivoted on his heel, his heart galloping in his chest, sandwich forgotten on the table. Another creak and Dean just _knew_ something was coming, like the smell of an approaching storm lacing the air. The scrape of something metal against the stone floor, something heavy with an odd count to the footsteps, all added up to something that didn’t make a lick of sense. Dean took a step back, eyes riveted on the doorway. The creature appeared.

 

What Dean first noticed were the wings, four of them, arched and heavy with a deluge of feathers spilling from the strong muscular curves of the arms. It was those feathers that he recognised, the startling white with the myriad of colours hidden within the angles of light. The beast to which the wings were attached robbed Dean of breath, making his legs begin to shake, knees turning to pliant foam in his body. The chest of the creature was armoured, silver plates that overlapped and moved with each breath the thing took, but between the silver plates were transparent panels like glass from where an eldritch cyan light burned as though there were a furnace within the body. The long supine body was covered in silky grey fur, supported by four legs that at first appeared canine but then turned into that of a bird’s scaled feet that ended with thick curving talons that gleamed silver, promising cruel shredding.

 

The creature’s head turned to face him, putting its six cold blue eyes upon him; it opened its long wolf like muzzle.

 

Dean ran.

 

The creature flicked its sinuous tail, a fan-like feather on the end flaring as it watched the man flee from the room. Lifting its head, its nostrils flared, scenting the man. The creature felt saliva pool into its mouth; the smell at first was unpleasant. The smell of motor oil, the cloying scent of grease and industrial lubricants were almost overpowering, but beneath the grime there was something else, something that he couldn’t pin down; the spice of cinnamon, the clean vapor of rain, and a smell so terribly sweet, more desirable than any forbidden fruit or honey soaked ambrosia.

 

Claws digging into the floor, the beast launched itself towards the front door, knowing to cut the human off. He felt energy thrumming through him again as if that scent alone had reinvigorated the embers inside him that had threatened to burn out. Rounding the corner the beast came to a stop and raised its head, pointed canine ears flicking forward as he heard the labored exhales of the man getting closer. Sitting back on his haunches he waited for the inevitable. Sure enough as soon as Dean cleared the corner he saw the door, green eyes lighting up with hope till that too was dashed away by the visage of the beast watching him.

 

Dean glanced up at the stairs and without thinking dashed towards them, skipping every second step, hand gripping the metal banister. As he climbed the stairs he spotted a heavy wooden door, which he threw open and immediately slammed closed after him. There was a key, a delicate silver thing which he turned and heard a satisfying click. Backing away from the door he cast his eyes on the room, spotting a set of drawers, and with a grunt dragged it across the wooden floors and jammed it against the door.

 

Dean panted and stared at the door, expecting at any moment for the creature to rip it away. Yet the moment stretched on and everything remained the same. His knees buckled, driving him to the floor where he was at once vapid, mouth agape and eyes rounded, but his mind was a jumble of thoughts. Was he going mad? Was this some sort of trick? Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. Whatever the answer, he was getting out of here. Turning away from the door Dean surveyed the sizeable room and arched an eyebrow. Everything was spotless, golden ornaments shining with polish, a queen’s sized bed with cream coloured sheets that were without a crease, and the air held the subtle flavour of lavender and the barest hint of burnt candle wax.

 

Dean shivered, forehead corrugated as he walked past the foot of the four-poster bed, careful not to touch it. The only thing this place was missing was some fluffy handcuffs and a leather riding crop. Crossing over to the heavy red curtains, Dean pulled them back and revealed a window hidden behind them. The late afternoon sun caught motes of dust floating in the room as he reached for the iron latch. He tugged, and when that didn’t work he tugged a little harder. Sighing, Dean took a step back found a candlestick on a walnut vanity. Clenching his eyes shut brought the candlestick against the window. Pain radiated up his arm, but there was no crash of broken fragments, and when Dean peeled back his eyelids the glass was without a crack. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” He murmured as he ran his fingers over the panes. Gripping the candlestick with two hands he set his feet apart and swung, hard. The candlestick went flying from his hands as it bounced off the glass with a metallic chime and clattered to the floor.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 

Tremors ran over his skin, sour bile flooding his mouth as he strode over to the door, his terror lending him strength as he hefted the drawers out of the way. His hand flew to the key, which he snapped either way to unlock it, yet it remained stubbornly in place. Heart sinking he tried the doorknob, where the motif of the dove caught in the thorns appeared once again and it too refused to open.

 

Everything in the room was an offence to his eyes,  and he didn’t want to touch, see, or smell anything. A while veil descended before his eyes, blinding him as he felt his throat constrict, air becoming thin and sparse. He blindly stumbled against the bed, feeling himself stumble against the mattress, “This can’t be happening.” Sammy…if he couldn’t get back, his brother couldn’t continue at law school and he’d have to quit and find a job; after all, the emergency funds would only last a semester at best. Feeling in his pockets he tried to remember where he put his cell phone, but no plastic met his fingertips. “Just my luck that this dream is actually a nightmare,” He remarked as his fingers curled in the bed sheets. Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head, exhaling and inhaling, brining his heart back to its normal tempo. There was no way he was going to get stuck here.

 

«

 

Dean sat up in the dark, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Frowning, he looked at his watch, the glowing green digits declaring 18:40. Pinching the bridge of his nose Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, not remembering how he fell asleep.

 

A hand was on his hip, the fingers pulling insistently at him. A myriad of curses flew from Dean’s lips as he tried to get out of the bed, surprise making his heart skip a beat. But that one hand on him was enough to keep him in place, the grip becoming bruising as it latched on.

 

“Don’t struggle.”

 

Twisting, Dean balled a fist, felt his punch land on flesh. It felt as if every bone in his hand had been broken, pain blooming from his knuckles and making him gasp. The man took the opportunity and tugged Dean back onto the bed. “Stop!” Dean felt himself slide across the sheets, the soft mattress cushioning his back as he stared up into the pitch-black room, completely blind. Instead, his touch was heightened with the deprivation of sight. He could feel the cool silk against his hands and feet (and oh god when did he lose his shoes?) the _heat_ of the man’s skin on him, and the scratch of the man’s fingernails as he pulled at Dean’s shirt. Dean tried to sit up, feeling as though his back was going to snap as he pressed against the hand on his chest that kept him in place like a pinned butterfly in a display case. His shirt came off, the soft worn neck slipping over his stubble rough cheeks and the tip of his nose. The hands left him for a moment. Kicking out Dean heard the slap of flesh in the dark and he clawed at the bed, feeling the edge of the mattress. There was a wet click as the man clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, impossibly strong grip finding him again. Dean was wrenched back to the centre of the mattress and flipped onto is back again, naked chest heaving with his rapid breaths. “I’m not going to rape you, Dean.”

 

Dean felt the man straddle him, firm ass sitting on his belly as the man’s hands wandered over his naked chest, running over the lines of his muscles. “Funny how I don’t believe that.”

 

The person on top of him exhaled heavily through his nose. “I need to do this. So _relax_.”

 

At that Dean renewed his struggle, heels digging into the mattress, arms coming up to blindly claw at the man who deftly caught his wrists and pinned them above his head. The grip on his wrist was a steel cuff; his index finger drew small circles and intricate patterns against his flesh as he leaned down, the man’s groin shifting against him.

 

Dean balked as he felt the hard line of the man’s erection, a wet dab of pre come smudging itself against his belly. “If you aren’t going to rape me, then why the hell are you naked and have got a woody, huh?” Dean snapped, hips jerking in an attempt to buck the man off.

 

“Sex would be the quickest, most efficient way, but I need you to _want_ it from me because…” He whispers, head dipping down, tongue licking out over Dean’s flesh, tasting the sweat that has broken out, “…Permission makes the energy more virulent, whether taken through sex or meager touches…”

 

Dean felt himself begin to shake under the man, tears pricking at his eyes, “Okay buddy, you’re guano, you’re fucking insane. I have no idea what you’re saying, so please just let me go!”

 

The man smiles against him, chapped lips tickling Dean’s skin. “Sorry, not going to happen. Now this might hurt…”

 

A jolt, something electrical, went through him, scorching his flesh and burning at his nerve endings. Every muscle in his body went taut, making his teeth audibly grinding against each other. The pain subsided as quickly as it came and his nerves stopped screaming. His muscles turned to jelly and his head lolled to the side as he breathed in the clean smell of lavender and salt.

 

The man’s hand left his chest where it had laid flat against Dean’s heart. “I tried to be gentle.” A gravelly moan punctuated the air; the man rolled his hips against Dean, rubbing his erection against the plaint flesh of his stomach, “But god that felt good, I forgot how much I need it…”

 

Slowly the man clambered off him and Dean turned onto his side, shivering due to the cold winter air in the room, dressed only in his jeans. His throat clicked as he swallowed and he closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself, head empty and detached from his body. He didn’t care when he felt the man tug a sheet over him, nor did he flinch when the man laid his naked body against him, tucking his knees in the crook of Dean’s, and how the stranger wrapped an arm over him, tugging him flush against his chest. All Dean cared about, with his mind gone blank with the memory of pain flashing through him, was the blazing heat rolling off the man behind him that soaked into his bones like a balm.

 

 

«

 

 

Hot golden sunlight hit his face, making him groan and turn over, face burrowing into the soft pillow. Begrudgingly, he dragged his wrist out from under the pillow and looked at the time. “Gonna be late…” He mumbled, legs twisting in the slippery sheets. Realisation flooded through him, of strong hands gripping him, the stabbing electrified pain that broke him, and the inescapable house with its unbreakable glass and stubborn doors. Sitting up, a tray of food clinked, the teacup bumping into the bone china plate, which held a selection of fresh fruits and some slices of white fluffy bread slathered with dark purple jam.

 

There was a rustle by the door. The creature was there, head resting on its paws. Its eyes flicked open, the neon gaze watching him carefully. Dean froze on the bed, inhaling shallowly through his nostrils as he waited for the inevitable agony of being ripped apart and devoured, alive just long enough to feel the beasts’ tongue wriggle inside of him to taste his blood soaked heart.  The creature huffed and closed its eyes, adjusting its legs slightly to move further into the ray of sunlight cutting through the room and into the corridor where it relaxed.

 

Clambering out of bed Dean crept across the wooden floorboards, slowly approaching the tranquil creature. It was easily the size of a large horse, its wings tucked tightly against its sides, but despite that the feathers still brushed against the banister leading to the stairs and the outside of the bedroom wall. Crouching down a few steps away from the beast, Dean looked at it and soaked in the smaller details, the pulsing light coming from its armoured breast, the white scar on the velveteen nose, and the thin silver cuffs that decorated each of its legs. “Not gonna eat me, huh?”

 

The beast raised its head and merely blinked at him, nostrils flaring as it took in his scent. In a very human gesture, the creature rolled its furred shoulders. Taking that as confirmation, Dean stepped around the beast, his naked toes nearly treading on the hooked talons. Dean let himself begin to hope as he walked to the stairs, feet slapping against the hard wood floors as he descended the steps. Maybe he wasn’t trapped here after all. Maybe one really fucking weird night that he would never ever speak of would see the end of it. He shivered as he stepped onto the dark granite floor and approached the front door. He tried the handle. Locked.

 

Dean bit back a sob, forehead thumping against the door. The creature sauntered up behind him and nudged Dean in the side with his cold wet nose. When that didn’t get Dean moving, it nipped at his arm, hard, drawing blood on his bicep. Dean yelped, hand slapping against the blood. The creature sat back on its haunches and its lips peeled back in a grin, shiny white teeth stained with blood-tinged saliva. Anger burbled hot and sticky up Dean’s throat. This thing, this house was keeping him here, in this prison of stone. He threw himself at the creature, uncaring of the fangs that that peeked out from its lips; all he wanted to do was **get out**. His fingers curled, stabbing into the creature’s eyes, and it jumped back with a pained a cry. Two of the lights of its eyes flickered, light bulbs going out. It growled, the hackles of its back raised into needles. Dean sucked in a breath, fingers sticky with the clear fluorescent blood dripping from his fingers. The creature barreled into him, knocking the wind from his lungs, every drag of air burning as he fell to the floor, shoulder cracking against the stones.

 

The tiny bit of breath that he bottled in his lungs was forced out as the creature placed its clawed foot on his bruised chest, caging him in. Dean felt the thunderous growl rattling in the beast, the clear sap-like blood that pattered onto the floor. Lifting his head slightly, Dean looked at the glass panels in the creature’s breast. Dean balled his hand into a fist and cracked it against the clear plate.

 

 _Snap_ , like an ice-covered lake resisting the spring, the sound was grating, angry and mournful. The creature snapped its jaws and Dean flinched shutting his eyes, as he felt the fangs poking into his jugular. “Come on,” He wheezed out, the claw reflexively tightening around his chest, “Eat me.”

 

The teeth scraped against his throat, leaving angry red welts. Dean felt hot drool slap against his skin, warm breathing panting against him. The creature drew its jaws away and closed its mouth with a snap, lifting its foot off him and backing away, tail flicking, splayed feather on the end slapping angrily against the floor.

 

Dean winced as he pushed himself up, one hand out behind him to support his trembling body whilst he wraps his other arm around his ribs. Already he can see angry welts and scratches blossoming against his skin that’ll turn to angry violets and splotchy green bruises with time. Despite that, a thrill of satisfaction ran through him as he watched the creature paw at its injured eyes that continued to leak profusely. There’s a shudder to the light in its breast, where before it was a strong confident pulse.

 

The creature bared its fangs at him as it stood, claws clicking against the stone floor. The flesh of its eyes began to repair itself, the gelatinous substance bubbling to fill the ripped socket, soon the fluid soaking the side of its face stopped and the cracks in the glass panel smoothed out, spider web cracks dissolving in seconds.

 

Tilting its chin the creature stared down at him and arched its wings, fanning them gently in the confines of the manor.

 

“I get it, I can’t hurt you as much as you can hurt me, is that it?” With a hiss Dean stood up, still carefully cradling his torso as he felt the hot aches twinge with the movement.

 

The creature nodded its head.

 

“You understand me?” Dean asked, already knowing the answer deep down.

 

If the creature had pupils, Dean could have sworn he would have rolled them to accompany the exasperated huff it expelled through its fanged maw.

 

“I’m not going to try and escape,” Dean began, tongue peeking out to lick the salt from his lips as he carefully chose his next words, “But I just need to get some fresh air okay? I’d also like to grab some stuff from my car. I won’t try anything, trust me.”

 

A self-depreciating laugh left Dean, making him cringe as the skin of his chest moved, agitating the swollen and bruised flesh. “I learned my lesson.”

 

The creature cocked its head to the side and narrowed its eyes, the feathers on its wings bristling with agitation. It stood up and Dean flinched, going rigid as it came closer. Lifting its front foot it lightly tapped the door with its talon and with that the door swung open. Dean immediately felt goose bumps prick his flesh as the chilled air from outside flowed into the manor. Frost lined the ground and Dean wriggled his toes, having lost his shoes and socks. Swallowing the ball of tension in his throat, Dean stepped out and hissed out between his clenched teeth as the cold ground sent lanes of frost through his blood. Quickly, Dean crossed over to the car, all the while followed closely by the creature. Throwing open the unlocked door, Dean sat in the driver’s seat. From within his pocket he got out the Impala’s key. He carefully slotted it into the ignition and tracked the creature’s movements from the corner of his eye. He turned the key, the engine never making a sound.

 

Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel; he felt the beginnings of a sob clog his throat. He rested his forehead on the top of the wheel, gaze numbly registering that not only didn’t the car start but the orange needle that tracked the fuel pointed towards Empty.

 

Dragging his hands away from the steering wheel, Dean picked up his cell phone from where it sat on the passenger seat. How stupid was he that he hoped it would work, that he could call Sammy to come rescue him from this grotesque nightmare he had fallen into? Thumbing the on button, Dean stared at the dark screen, waiting for the flash of light as it turned on. “Fuck!” Dean shouted, lobbing the dead phone into the foot well.

 

Glancing out of the window screen he saw the creature stretching out its wings, fanning them out to their full length. The meager light of the winter sun danced across the feathers, displaying the subtle sparks of colours.

 

Climbing out of the driver’s seat Dean made his way to the trunk and opened it. Inside was his emergency bag, which he unzipped and pulled out a shirt, a pair of sturdy leather boots, socks, and a brown bag filled with long life foods. Hurriedly, he pulled on the spare clothes, uncaring for the musty smell that filtered from them as he unfolded them; instead he only sighed with relief as he snuggled into his thick coat with its wool lining and the thick socks his feet were ensconced in.

 

Slamming the trunk shut, Dean carried his foods out with him and stopped by the creature. “Tell your groping buddy I want my clothes back, okay?”

 

The creature didn’t respond, instead preening its feathers, delicately pulling the flight feathers through his front teeth. Sighing, Dean stalked away, heading for the chapel in the distance. His boots crunched over the frost-brittle grass, his cheeks stung as the wind lashed his skin, turning his golden complexion a light pink.

Soon, Dean was at the chapel, standing on the border of the unkempt graveyard that hugged one side. There was a rusted gothic inspired fence, pointed iron fleur de les topping the thin poles. He walked into the graveyard and was faced with two headstones. They were bare, except for a name on each.

 

 _Jimmy Novak_  
  
Emmanuel Allen

The earth was fresh on Jimmy’s grave, where Dean knelt and ran his fingers through the bitterly cold soil. “These guys were trapped here before me, weren’t they?” Dean glanced over his shoulder, and saw the creature watching him and respond with a curt nod of its long angular head. Dean leaned his forehead against Jimmy’s grave. “So this is what happens, you stay here, die here, and end up in one of these shitty graves?”

 

The stone was cold against his skin; Dean felt it trickle into his bones. He ran his hands along the sides, feeling the roughly hewn material grate along his palms and catch against his calluses. He used the headstone to push himself up, feeling the air in his lungs become tight as he pivoted on his heel. “Why the hell are you doing this to us, huh? What made you choose us?”

 

The creature ruffled its wings and met Dean’s furious stare. “It’s not like you would tell me even if you could speak, right?” Hand going to his pocket Dean plucked out a snickers bar and tore open the brown plastic with a rip. He let the end flutter to the ground, where it stuck to Jimmy’s fresh graveyard soil. He bit into it, feeling his stomach growl as he chewed through the peanuts and sugar-laden chocolate. He continued eating as he passed under the arched entranceway into the chapel; the double doors were gone, only rusted hinges protruding from the stone as though they were ripped off in a rage. Dead leaves scuttled over the granite floors, creating a scratching whisper. The bare beams sagged under the weight of the roof, the short pews that lined each side of the chapel dark with age, and the stained glass windows at the front of the chapel dyed the white marble altar green and blue. Dean’s boots crunched on the glass as he approached, furtively looking behind himself as he did. The creature whined at the entrance of the chapel, glowing eyes tracking him as he wandered in. Dean took another bite of his chocolate as he returned his attention to the broken fragments of stained glass. Multitudes of colours glinted at his feet, and he toed some of the pieces together, seeing the shapes of crosses and leaves coming together in a sharp jigsaw. There were white pieces too, cut, elegant carved shapes through the greens and blues. After a few minutes Dean gave up trying to make out what the stained glass window had depicted and turned his back on the gaping wound in the chapel walls, where pieces jutted from the stones like torn flesh. The wind blew against his back and made the glass pieces sing.

 

The creature moved away from the entrance as Dean stepped out, dark fur rippling along its muscles as it stretched. The icy lake stretched out before Dean, and feeling tired, lack of sleep hanging heavy from his eyelids, he sat down on the edge of the lake. The creature huffed and came to rest next to him, claws just touching the thick reflective ice. The weak sun was like a disc of light at the middle of the lake that drew Dean’s eye. He sat there, going numb as the winter frost blew over the frozen lake, fingers going blue and stiff even as he slotted them tightly under his armpits. The stones at the edge of the lake crunched as the creature drew a little closer, its azure eyes staring at him, then carefully it pressed its armour plated chest against him. Dean was about to move away, breath catching at the base of his throat as trepidation began to stifle him, when he felt a warm heat reach him, warming him like he was next to a bonfire. Carefully, Dean reached out a hand and laid his palms flat against the armour; it was smoother than any other metal he had touched, and he imagined that if quicksilver ever solidified it would have felt like this. And the metal, god it was so warm, effusing a gentle heat that began to relax his fingers, stinging them a little as sensation returned to him. The creature’s head hovered over him, its long neck stretched out over Dean as it began to close its eyes.

 

Would killing it be as easy as stealing a fragment of the stained glass window, holding it tight in his hand and then plunging it into that warm flesh? Dean’s hands moved along the armour, rubbing over one of the transparent panels. A rumble shook the creature, startling him, ‘till he realised it was nothing more than a contented purr. “Like that, huh?” Dean murmured, feeling the vibrations course through him. Eventually Dean shifted slightly, putting his back to the creature’s chest. He thumbed out his wallet and flicked the battered thing open. Inside were his credit cards, a few crumpled receipts, and the edges of creased notes. He drew his thumb across the transparent plastic on the other side where he stood with Sam, arm draped over his shoulder as they stood together outside an AC/DC concert, the colours of the even shining brightly behind them in violets and rubies. He held it up for the creature to see, feeling it shift behind him.

“That’s my kid brother,” Dean began, feeling his heart speed up in his chest, “I miss him, so don’t keep me here, okay?”

 

The creature stopped purring.

 

 

«

 

 

Dean awoke, warm and in the darkness, the comfort of soft bedding ensconcing him against the pleasantly pliant mattress. Absentmindedly he scratched at his belly, feeling it ache with hunger as he opened his eyes. He wasn’t surprised to see nothing but the faintest outlines of things, the moon’s rays weakly breaching the bedroom window.

 

Dean could hear the whisper of blankets next to him and the measured breaths of the stranger. “Hello, Dean.” The man uttered, breaking the peaceful quiet. Dean sighed and propped himself up on the pillow, unsurprised to find that his boots were gone again, and wriggled against the sheets. Thankfully, the rest of his clothes remained, layered shirts and frayed jeans. “So what do I call you?”

 

The man huffed in the darkness. “Castiel.”

 

“That’s a weird name.” Dean supplied, knuckling at the dust that had collected in his eyes, “Don’t take my shoes this time Cas, okay?”

 

He heard a chuckle in the darkness, soft and growly, like the man wasn’t used to speaking. “I won’t, though I’m not so sure about that nickname.”

Dean’s fingers curled, bunching up the silks and softer fabrics, something like fur he guessed, to ward away the deeper chills of night. “How does this work then? Me giving you…what you want without it hurting me. It’ not like I have a choice right?”

 

“That’s right, you don’t.” Castiel, murmured, “What I’m taking from you is energy, Dean. It returns to you and doesn’t have to be an unpleasant experience. As I said last night, sex is particularly-“

 

“Don’t,” Dean snapped, “You’ve got a dick, I know that much about you, and I don’t swing that way.” Expelling a pregnant breath, Dean rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, “And so what’s the side effects?”

 

“Lethargy, mainly. If I take too much at once you could fall into a coma, or in extreme circumstances kill you.”

 

Dean pushed the blankets off him, feeling too hot and trapped, suffocated under the weight. He breathed out, breathed in, his skin tingling, “So that’s what happened to Jimmy, to Emmanuel as well?”

 

Dean heard Castiel swallow imagined the bob of an Adam’s apple. “Yes, but it was worse for Jimmy, he died sooner than I would have liked. He missed his family too Dean, he wanted to go home but I couldn’t let him, just like I can’t let you.”

 

A warm firm grip wrapped itself around Dean’s bicep, and he felt something sour cloy on his tongue, wanting nothing more than to rip the hand off him. “Why did you choose me? And that monster, how do you control it?”

 

The fingers on his arm began to make small patterns on the fabric, tickling Dean’s skin. “I do control him.” He murmured, breath tickling against the shell of Dean’s ear that made a shiver trickle down his spine. Dean tensed. “Not going to answer my first question?”

 

There was a huff of breath against him as Castiel let out a gentle chuckle, rich with condensation, “No, I’m not.”

 

Dean’s brows knitted together, and he edged away slightly, but stayed still when he felt the fingers begin to dig in painfully, nails biting into his skin, “I’m not some kid, you can’t keep me here, or keep these secrets, I’ll find out.”

 

“You’re a child to me.”

 

Dean’s eyes riveted to the source of the voice but only saw the outline of a straight nose and the tips of black eyelashes. Relaxing against the mound of pillows at his back, Dean closed his eyes, belly sinking. “So how do I give you my energy or whatever?”

 

The hand left his arm, nails catching on the fabric. “And I’m not fucking you if that’s gonna be you’re answer.”

 

There was a pause, making Dean open his eyes; the moon afforded him a scant peek at lips thinned into a line. “Just relax, stay still, though this will still hurt.”

 

“Great,” Dean grumbled, clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth together. Dean jumped when he felt a hand on his chin that forced the back of his head against the feather stuffed pillows. The hand was tight on him, almost bruising. “I need your consent to make it less painful.”

 

“Yeah, okay, fine, get on with it Cas.”

 

The bed shifted, and Dean felt the hard angle of Castiel’s knees sliding across the outsides of his legs, his dark silhouette hanging over him like a specter about to possess him. The hand somehow grew tighter on his chin, a fingertip digging painfully into his jawbone, rasping against his stubble. And then there was something soft against his lips, so achingly soft and sweet. Dean’s breath shuddered as it left his throat, lips parting slightly so that his own rubbed against Castiel’s chapped pair. The hand left his face, though the skin throbbed, growing hot with a bruise that would turn his flesh into violets and liver in the morrow. The lips too drew away; Castiel balanced on his knees, still caging Dean under him, as though he were waiting.

 

Dean opened his mouth to speak but his words were fractured by a gasp of pain. Little sparks of pain radiated from his lips, traveling through him like current of electricity riding through his veins, simmering his blood. He felt his knees come up, bumping against Castiel as he drew them to his chest. The lightning-pain singed through him. He writhed, fingers clawing at the sheets as he let out tiny gasps, too afraid too breathe. “Fuck, you said it wouldn’t hurt as much. Bastard, you lied to me.” He eked out as his hips raised over the mattress, forcing Castiel to sidle away, leg coming over Dean’s hunched knees. “It does, you can speak can’t you?”

 

Dean knows it to be true, for soon his fingers are uncurling his muscles are relaxing though feeling burned from their mad clench onto his bones. He moans low in his throat and feels his pulse jumping against the skin of his throat.

 

Castiel’s hands are on him again, gently tugging him to lie down on the mattress. Once more, Dean feels the length of his body snuggly fitting against him and his hand strays to his bicep.

 

Small kisses were laid to the back of Dean’s neck, the exhales threading through the wisps of honey brown hair at the base of his neck. “The kiss felt good though, didn’t it?” Castiel whispers, pressing his groin harder, purposively against Dean’s backside, “It wasn’t a normal kiss, and as you know and I can promise the whole thing will feel so much better.”

 

There was a small nip of teeth and Dean bit out a hiss through his teeth, strangely too tired to move. “So just give in, it’ll be so much easier and more pleasurable for the both of us.”

 

“Not going to happen.” He bit out, feeling anger simmering in his gut that refused to burn out, quenched all too soon by the fatigue plaguing him.

 

And that traitorous little thought at the back of his head, a little demon that admitted that the kiss had felt strangely wonderful, made him wonder what the full experience would entail.

 

«

 

 

When Dean’s eyes flicked open the moon still hung, bulbous and gossamer outside the window. There was the gentle inhale and exhale distinctive of sleep from his side. Dean’s eyes squinted as he drew back the sheets slightly, trying to gain some impression of the man that had ensnared him. Yet no matter how long he stared all he saw were shifting shadows and faint outlines. Carefully, he slipped out of bed and crossed the wooden floorboards, spreading his weight and testing the old wood. There was a slight creak, the sound making him cringe, and he waited for Castiel’s gravelly voice to warn him to get back into bed. The seconds drew on and no reprimand was forthcoming. Swallowing back the relieved sigh, Dean spotted his shoes by a plump armchair. Perching on the edge of it he drew on his socks and tied on his shoes. Despite the cold he felt a sweat break out over him; this was his chance, his only chance, for if he failed…He put a hand to his chest where his heart hammered, surely loud enough to wake Castiel. Pushing against the arm of the chair he schooled his breathing and made his way to the door. He wrapped his palm around the cool metal and then, at a torturously slow pace, he compressed the handle. He felt the springs being pushed down, the metal pieces turning. He hunched his shoulders, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder despite the overwhelming darkness of the room. Finally the door was open and he carefully guided the handle back to its beginning position without a modicum of noise to disturb the man that slumbered in the bed at his back.

 

Without opening the door too far he squeezed through the gap, feeling a grin being to tug at his lips. He was really going to get out of here; the door had been unlocked, lady luck was with him this night. Once more he faced the arduous task of cautiously closing the door behind him. His hand began to shake as the door slotted back into the frame. He cast his eyes over the gloomy space, waiting for the burning lights of the creature’s eyes. Yet it wasn’t there, nor was it sitting at the top of the stairs, or at the bottom when Dean finished his descent. At the front door, there was a coat stand made of dusty antlers, and upon it was his warm olive green jacket hung. Plucking it off, he slipped his arms in and let his fingers absentmindedly slot the buttons through the holes. He opened the front door, old worn wood, and stepped outside into the winter night.

 

His breath plumed out, clouds of steam appearing and evaporating as he stood on the cold steps. The moon turned everything silver, the Impala’s rims sparkling in the night, the frost on the ground a carpet of metallic lace and as Dean rounded the corner of the house he spied the lake, a great expanse of shimmering ice with an ephemeral mist hanging above it.

 

Just for a moment there was light, gold amber that blinked at the other side of the lake. Dean took a step closer, sole of his boot crunching on the loose stones. He waited and there it was again, another blink. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. That was his ticket out of here. Holding back the urge to sprint over, Dean walked, quickly, over to the lakeside. He passed the chapel and graves without ever sparing them a glance. The light winked at him again.

 

He put his foot out onto the ice, letting his weight fall onto his foot. The ice held steady. “Fuck,” Dean bit out into the night. There was no way he would make it the way he drove in, for he hadn’t seen any sign of civilization for miles, only rows upon rows of trees and the dark jutting teeth of mountain ranges. This light was his chance and he was going to take it. He stepped out onto the frozen lake, hands fanned out either side of him to balance as he shoes slid over the treacherous surface. He slowly made his way across, following the steady beat of the light as it turned on and then off. He drew a hand to his chest, feeling the cord of his amulet on his neck. The horned head had been hidden under his shirt, safe, where he couldn’t have it taken from him. He pulled his hand away as he took his next step, the weight of the amulet a comfort against his chest.

 

Half turning he looked back and saw the angled roof of the chapel and the broken glass of the window far away in the distance. He turned back to his task, looking just in time to see the light once more. He inched his way across, nearly losing his footing as he took his next step. The stars gleamed above him, jewels in a display case. Everything was quiet and still, the wind bowing at his back, urging him forward.

 

Crack.  
With a long sad creak.

 

Dean stood still, eyes shooting to his feet. Tiny black veins wriggled out from under his scuffed brown boots. He licked his chapped lips and lifted his foot, putting it forward. He moaned with relief as the ice didn’t shudder under him. There was a shape in the darkness, thin, skeletal. The light was at its top.

 

It was a buoy, frozen in place in the ice. Dean let out a sob, feeling it burble out of him. Hot tears rolled onto his skin. Now it was clear in his gaze, it’s angled, yellow, straight lines and the flashing light.

 

Snap.

 

He didn’t have time to think, just felt himself plummet. His breath was ripped from him as soon as he hit the water, his head feeling as though it were being locked into a vice and tightened, crushing his skull. His skin burned with the unbelievable chill. He opened his eyes. Weeds floated under him, meters of it snaking up to him. He turned over, expecting to see the underside of the ice but was faced with a dark abyss a long stretch of water. He twisted his body in the water again, feeling his clothes clinging to him, dragging him slowly, surely, to the sandy, weed-infested bottom. More darkness. Panic clutched him, vertigo making him spin, twisting and turning in the water. His lungs ached and throbbed, the icy water pressed against his lips.

 

 _Just one breath, open your mouth_. His body told him. His fingers groped for his amulet as he opened his mouth and let out a silent scream. Water rushed into him, strangling him as he floated in the water, moving one last time as he felt his throat spasm around the watery intrusion. He saw the ice above him.

 

 

«

 

 

It was warm, so lovely and warm. He felt himself move towards it instinctively. Something smooth was on him, hands he realised, the fingers digging under his armpits as they yanked him from something, something cold that sluiced off him.

 

It was water.

With that the memories came flooding back of falling through the ice, the edges catching his clothes and tearing his skin but worse, clouding that pain was the deathly embrace of the water and the vertigo, where the aquatic plants were all at once both the floor and the ceiling.

 

He felt himself being rolled onto his side, where water forced itself out of his throat. He coughed and spluttered as he dragged in air. The warmth was Castiel, Dean caught a glimpse of his naked body, of a lithe body, tanned and nearly hairless. Dean’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on the ice as he tried to twist, to see the man’s face. A hand came towards him and he was too weak from his near drowning to push it away. A blindfold was placed over his eyes and the tied snuggly around the back of his head.

 

“D-don’t,” He slurred out as his teeth chattered inside his skull. “I can’t let you see me.” Castiel murmured as he began to tug Dean’s waterlogged clothes off his waxen limbs.

 

Something slightly scratchy but warm was pulled over his head, and he tried to put his arms through the sleeves he could feel, but even for that he needed help, too uncoordinated to find the holes. “Take this blindfold offa me.” His tongue was like lead, heavy and cumbersome in his mouth. Castiel ignored him as he finished putting on the woolen jumper, his knuckles brushing over Dean’s exposed stomach as he wound a blanket around his legs. Dean’s brow furrowed whilst his fingers numbly prodded at the fabric covering his eyes to no avail. How was he going to walk?

 

Suddenly he felt strong arms under him, one arm under his legs, the other at his back, carrying him bridal style. It didn’t occur to him to care as was lifted clear of the ice. He sighed with relief as the cold was taken from him. Instead, he curled in on himself, pressing himself tightly against the naked man carrying him across the icy lake. There was a gap in his blindfold, just big enough to afford a view of the man’s feet treading across the ice, toes splayed across the grey surface. “Are you angry?”

 

“Of course,” He replied softly, menace a subtle dagger in the words, “But,” he added, “I will be tomorrow, for tonight I am only relieved that I could save you.”

 

It was just exhaustion that made him smile, feeling safe in his jailors arms as he was carried over the frozen lake, moon shining high in the night.

 

As Dean’s eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering with tiny dots of frost clinging to them, Castiel’s arms tightened around him. He found himself staring at the amulet Dean wore, the little horned head a dull brass spot against his ice-pale chest. He felt something ugly coil inside him, festering and poisonous. He wanted to rip the cord, and drop it into the hole in the ice. Castiel’s fingers slid over the blanket covering Dean’s legs, slipping under the wool to feel his skin. He drew strange symbols onto Dean, writing ‘heat’ and ‘healing’ into him. He felt the spark of energy leave him, dragging a gasp out of him as the chapel drew nearer. Immediately, Dean’s skin flushed with life, turning rosy as though facing a blazing hearth.

 

Castiel felt the wind bite into his naked flesh and fixed his blue eyes onto the manor. Dean’s punishment would come tomorrow night. He smiled and breathed in deeply through his flared nostrils as he stepped lightly onto the pebbles at the shore. The wind wound itself through his hair. He was finally feeling alive, heart beating with excitement for tomorrow, yet buoyant with the rescue and Dean’s contented smile as he slept peacefully in his arms.

 

 

«

 

 

His eyes flicked open. The morning was dark, sun obscured by thick angry clouds that smoldered on the horizon and rumbled with thunder. Dean sat up, and tried to bring a hand to his face but was stopped by a cuff to his wrist, an old iron thing gone orange in places with rust. The other end was clapped onto a chain that was wrapped around the thick wooden bedpost. The creature eyed him warily as it slunk inside the room, the feathers rumpled and crushed, the fur matted into clumps where before it had rippled in a smooth canvas over its muscles. “You gonna let me out of this?” Dean asked, though he expected nothing less than the shake of its wolfish head in return. He sighed as he lay back, feeling a headache brew behind his eyes. His muscles felt strained, stretched too far and so he didn’t fight it, the ache of cool metal on his wrist becoming secondary.   

 

The creature put its paws up onto the bed, talons threatening to rip the expensive silks. Its six eyes watched ‘til he found himself slipping under again.

 

A crack of lightning woke him, hours later. The creature was still there, teeth nibbling at its talons with clicks and clacks of its teeth. Dean shifted and sighed, using his free hand to scratch at the itch on his belly. He looked down at himself, only now noticing he was naked expect for a pair of his snug black boxer-briefs. A fire crackled in front of the bed, sending a ruby amber glow across him. He shifted and as he did so, heard the clink of plates. Once more there was a platter of fruits, baked delicacies, and his thermos. His stomach growled and he reached across, pushing himself up slightly against the collected cushions behind him.  Reaching across he picked up a knife and dipped it into some bright red berry conserve and slathered a thick slice of bread. The sugary syrup had him moaning and canting his hips up against the bed, which made the creature’s ear swivel towards the noise.

 

Another fork of lightning boomed outside, framed in the lead lined window as it forked across the dark sky. “So,” Dean began through mid chew, “What do I call you? Mutt, feathers?”

 

In response it walked away from him and curled by the fire, long tail slapping against the floorboards, back turned to Dean.

 

“And where were you last night, anyway? Sleeping on the job?”

 

Dean sighed and bit into a slice of cherry pie, where fat granules of dusted sugar rubbed into his fingertips. Lightning streaked outside his window, as he stifled a yawn, ready to sleep again as soon as his belly was full.

 

 

«

 

 

He awoke with an expletive on his tongue. A warm hand gripped his half hard cock, fisted tightly around him, the thumb rubbing over the cusp of the crown and smearing his pre come against the sheets. Reflexively Dean pushed at the man crowding into him, where he sat between his legs, yet Castiel merely bit out a growl, hand shooting out where the palm slapped against Dean’s chest, driving him back down onto the mattress.

 

“C-Cas, stop it.” The friction was dry, no spit or lube and the pace was punishing, stripping his cock with the lewd sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

 

Castiel clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “No I won’t, this is your punishment for your foolish attempt to escape.”

 

Dean tugged at his arm, feeling his wrist still bound in unforgiving iron. “Look I’m sorry okay, you don’t need to take the skin off my cock.”

 

The hand stilled against him, Dean panted in the dark and tentatively he reached out a hand and placed it against Castiel’s face, palm smoothing over his cheek till he blindly found the jut of his cheekbone. “I am, I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel’s fingertip smoothed over the slit of the crown, curve of it dipping into the gathered moisture. “Are you really?”

 

Dean huffed out a breath, legs shifting slightly where they spread on either side of Castiel’s crouched form, “I am really, and…God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but…” Dean clapped a hand onto his eyes despite the thick darkness, “If it helps you get energy or whatever I’ll happily let you give me a hand job, just use some spit for fuck sake.”

 

There was a dry, mischievous chuckle, a sound that made a shiver trickle down his spine. The hand was taken from his half hard cock and the sheets were ripped back without preamble, the sudden rush of cool air onto his warm cock making Dean gasp. The mattress shifted and the wooden struts creaked slightly as Castiel kneeled, then Dean felt something wet and warm on him. His hips bucked up into the warmth, his eyes fluttered open. He couldn’t see, could only feel and hear. Feel the warm tongue circling the head of his cock, the flat of it tasting the underside and the engorged vein. He could hear Castiel sucking him, wet noises that made him moan and spread his legs. Castiel’s dexterous tongue dipped into the slit and wriggled, ever so slightly tasting the bitterness. “Oh fuck,” Dean groaned, hips lightly pumping his fully fledged erection into the hot mouth on him, fingers of his free hand tangling themselves in Castiel’s short soft hair.

 

He felt fingers on his balls, lightly playing with them, rolling them over his fingertips and gently massaging them as they grew tighter as the passion thrumming in his blood began to pool and draw him to the edge. Castiel let his mouth sink to the base of Dean’s cock, taking his whole length into his mouth, until slowly, agonizingly gorgeously slowly he drew his head back up, sucking so hot and tight as he did. Dean’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his toes curled and his fingers tightening, pulling out hair, fingernails surely cutting into Castiel’s scalp. Castiel’s lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, the rest of the length aching to be touched, wet and warm but he stayed there, suckling and lapping at the precome.

 

“I’m gonna…gonna come,” Dean breathed out, half delirious as his nerves sang with pure pleasure, each inch of his skin hypersensitive, mind becoming clouded, secondary to the sensations racing through him that made saliva pool in his mouth.

 

Then, Castiel’s mouth was gone, replaced by a quick slide of his fingers as he pushed something to the base of his cock. Untangling his fingers from Castiel’s hair he touched the object, “You have got to be kidding me, you can’t leave me with this cock ring on.”

 

“I can…” Castiel purred as his fingers ran over Dean’s saliva-wet erection, “Or I could leave it there, it’s up to you.”

 

Clenching his teeth, Dean threw his head to the side, panting out hot and low as his hips gyrated with a mind of their own. His hand inched closer to his cock but was stopped when Castiel batted it away with a slap.

 

“Fine, how do I get you to take it off and finish blowing me?”

 

Dean heard Castiel sigh melodramatically, “So eloquent Dean, but what I want you to do is,” He said, moving closer so that his breath tickled against Dean’s ear, cheek still pressed against the pillow, “Is to kiss me, like you mean it. I want you to trick me into believing it.”

 

The fabric of the pillow whispered as Dean’s hair slid across it as he turned his face towards Castiel, “You want that?”

 

“I want you need to me.” Castiel amended with a brush of his finger against Dean’s aching length. Dean bit down on his lip, white canine worrying the delicate skin. “Fine.” With that he reached out and yanked Castiel towards him and pulled him off balance, so that his hands splayed either side of Dean’s body. Their teeth clicked against eachother, too close, too soon. But Dean didn’t care; he pushed his tongue between Castiel’s lips and tasted the faceless stranger, tongue running over his, dominating for a moment before Castiel arched his hips into Dean’s groin, forcing a gasp from the man. Castiel smiled against him as he deepened the kiss, running his own erection, something Dean hadn’t noticed, against his, spreading moisture. Dean moaned and kissed back, fought Castiel in a kiss that was more teeth and desperation than soft fondness.

 

Dean nipped the seam of Castiel’s lips and drew a bead of blood to the surface, which he lapped at and let a guttural moan rip itself from the pit of his belly. It tasted so sweet, not a hint of metal, not a hint of human. Dean’s tongue threaded past Castiel’s lips again, eager for more, hips rolling against Castiel’s own, using the hollow of his hip bone as a channel for his rutting. His tongue twisted against Castiel’s and finally he heard him moan too, and he went down on his elbows, resting his chest against his. Dean wrapped a hand around Castiel’s cock as he kissed him, stroking him in harsh tugs. He parted for a breath, lips tingling and swollen. “Believe me?”

 

“I do,” And with that, Dean felt Castiel’s fingers slide over him again and pull off the cock ring with a wet tug, lubricated from saliva and Castiel’s pre come that dripped onto him through their rutting. That’s all it took as he felt himself jerk, gasp and go mindless, feeling the wet lines of come paint itself across his belly. Castiel’s fingers rubbed themselves over his lips as he panted in the humid air, the final cracks and pops of the wood fire a distant sound in the background. Castiel’s warm body left his; instead he felt his warm tongue on his stomach, following the lines of his come. Each touch of his tongue sent a spark through him, like nicks of static electricity. It complemented the post-orgasmic bliss, making him writhe against the sheets. “This is it? This is the other way you can take energy?” He asked, voice husky, sounding broken.

 

“Yes it is.” Castiel replied, smirking against his skin as he licked Dean’s belly clean.

 

“You’re right, it does feel better.”  
Better than anything he’s ever known.

 

 

«

 

 

Something cold and wet snuffed him, breathing humid air onto his naked skin. Dean creaked open an eye and saw the face of the creature staring at him, its chin resting on the mattress. “You got to stop staring at me like that, Feathers.”

 

The head tilted at the nickname, six fluorescent eyes narrowing all at once. Dean stretched out his arms above him, startled slightly as his wrist was free from its manacle. Bringing his wrist in front of him, Dean hissed through his teeth at the band of angry amethyst bruises that circled his skin. “I was lucky getting off with just that, huh?”

 

‘Feathers’ huffed through its snout as it brought its head away. Once more there was breakfast ready on his bed. Dean plucked out a Danish and slid out of bed, uncaring that he was naked as he walked from the room. He grimaced as he sniffed his skin, the smell of sex and sweat thick on him. He ran his hand along the dusty banister, letting the slate powder gather in the creases of his hand as he walked to the room next to his. He grinned and took a bite of the glazed apricot that dotted the top of his sweet treat as he looked into the bathroom. A window stretched from floor to ceiling, letting the rising sun shine onto the depression in the floor. The sunken bath was made of a smooth, dark stone with pewter taps and faucets that dotted the sides. At the side was a footstool with several fluffy towels neatly folded on top of it, along with a few bottles filled with a variety of colours, though they all were without labels.

 

Dean approached as he licked his fingers clean of the sugary glaze, wondering idly where the food and clean linens came from and why the hell the rest of the house was filthy. Dean rolled his shoulders as he knelt to turn on the faucet, fingers darting under the stream of water to test the temperature.  “Who cares…” He whispered to himself. If monsters were real and vampiric magic was too, who was he to question some towels and scones?

 

Soon the bath was full of steaming water and Dean carefully tipped his foot into it and shivered. Glancing over his freckled shoulder Dean glared at Feathers. “You’re gonna watch?”

 

Feathers opted to ignore him as it sat on its haunches in the doorway. Dean sank down into the waters, feeling his muscles unclench and prompt a sigh from him. Reaching over he grabbed one of the bottles as he settled against the smooth curve of the spacious bath. The glass was cool against him, fogging up from the stream as he unscrewed the golden top. He sniffed it and smelled cinnamon and freshly peeled apple skins. His bottom lip jutted out at the smell but he inverted the bottled regardless, letting the thick gel like substance pool onto his palm. He slathered it onto his skin, running the faint red substance over his freckles as he scrubbed it into him. He smelled like dessert, the thought made him smile. “The hell is wrong with me?” He murmured as he scrubbed some into his hair as he stared through the window, watching the branches of trees sway in the wind.

 

After a time, the water began to cool and the steam evaporated, prompting Dean to finally leave the bath. He trembled as the chilly air hit him, hairs rising as he dried himself with one of the towels. Wrapping it around his waist he sidled past Feathers and went back to his room, brunette hair flattened against his scalp with water. His clothes, like the towels, were neatly folded. Castiel was a neat freak, Dean wasn’t, and that was something he was sure they would never agree on. He paused midway as he stepped into his clean boxer briefs. He wasn’t going to stay here, why should he care if Cas was a neat freak? Dean’s brow was corrugated as he finished getting dressed and laced up his boots. He couldn’t allow himself to get used to the idea of staying here; he wanted to escape, not live in this mad and inexplicable place with its manipulative stranger and savage creature that tracked his every move. As if to prove him right, Feathers was once more watching him keenly. Dean flipped him the finger as he turned to the table, picking up his amulet that had been looped over the arm of a golden candelabra. As he bowed his head to put it on his eye caught onto a curious shape through the window. He waited, heart skipping in his chest as the shape moved closer. “Is that…Cas?”

 

A growl reverberated in the room, which had Dean spinning on his heel to face Feathers as it dashed out of the room, talons ripping deep ragged gouges into the old wooden floors. Dean’s stomach flipped as he ran after him, bounding down the stairs to the ground floor, where the front door was already open, handle banging against the wall. Now, as the figure had gotten closer it was clear that it wasn’t Castiel. From this distance Dean could see that the man had fair blonde hair and a speck of orange in the distance betrayed a car at the top of the driveway. Jumping over the steps Dean sprinted across the gravel and up the driveway, helpless while he heard the man scream as Feathers loped towards him.

 

“Stop!” Dean cried, lungs aching with the frost but the cry came too late as he saw the creature leap, jaws snapping. There was a crunch, the sound making Dean falter mid-step, boots skidding on the loose stones. The creature turned and deposited the twitching body on the floor, the man’s white coat stained with lurid reds.

 

Dean was close enough now that when the man was dropped from Feather’s jaws and his head lolled on the slope of the driveway, he saw the whites of his eyes, the unstaring gloss of his brown eyes. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

 

Dean swallowed as he stepped closer, careful to avoid touching the licorice black blood that seeped into the gravel, made them shine with the gore. The man’s fingers were still twitching, making the stones skitter and clink against each other. Dean couldn’t help but look at the man’s neck, flesh torn to ribbons and throat snapped at an odd angel where he spied a tiny glimpse of white bone.

 

Dean turned away and closed his eyes as he clapped a hand over his mouth to staunch the metallic smell on the air. Feathers rounded him, six eyes blinking at him as its long liver coloured tongue snaked out to wipe away the blood staining the fur coating its maw. “I could have turned him away, there weren’t no need to kill him, Feathers.”

 

Dean felt bile burn at the back of his throat as memories of his fathers and mothers dead bodies, pale and blackened by ash lying on the cold morgue tables. “What if that had been Sam, huh? Would you have killed him?”

 

Feather’s titled its head to the side, and then it shook its head slightly in a silent no. Dean crouched down on his haunches, hand splayed on the ground as he concentrated on breathing, shallow little bursts as his mind played back images of the mutilated man behind him. “What are you going to do with the body? His car? People are going to look for him.” Dean asked, voice tremulous as he pushed himself back to his feet. Feathers lifted a great paw and extended one of his bird-like fingers, pointing towards the house. Dean nodded his head, taking the message, “Not like it’s my problem anyway. I still want to get out of here.”

 

Dean made sure not to turn around as he strode away, legs trembling, even as he heard the gravel crunch and felt a gust of air at his back. Instead he made his way to the Impala and opened the door, sliding into the driver’s seat. Here everything was familiar, safe.

 

He leaned over and thumbed on the radio, expecting nothing. He startled, swallowing a gasp as the sounds of his favourite classic rock radio station warbled through the aged speakers. Cranking up the volume Dean slid down the seat slightly. He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, thumb running over the stitching dotting the leather. He let the rock wash over him and stared vacantly outside the front window, following the cracks in the rocks that made the walls of the manor, the weeds that sprouted in the neglected garden beds. He let one hand fall to the gearshift. He held his breath as he tried the ignition, expecting the engine to stay silent like when he had tried before. This time the engine rumbled to life, vibrating the car. Dean sat up, eyes widening. He could drive out of here and see Sam again.

 

Or was this a test? An opportunity to get himself into an even bigger mess. Dean’s canine worried his lower lip, biting it hard, skin whitening under the pressure. It was worth trying, wasn’t it?

 

Dean’s fingers turned the key, killing the engine.

 

“What the hell am I doing?” He whispered, question concealed as Led Zeppelin’s What is and What Should Never Be swelled in the small space of the car.

 

 _Catch the wind, see us spin, sail away, leave today, way up high in the sky._  
But the wind won't blow, you really shouldn't go, it only goes to show   
That you will be mine, by takin' our time.

 

 

«

 

 

Feathers had found him at the edge of the lake. A shiver possessed him as he stared across the sheet of ice. “Didn’t bury him then, huh?” Dean asked as he sent a meaningful look at the undisturbed graveyard a couple of yards away.

 

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You know the car started when I tried.” Dean began, toe of his boot kicking a rock out onto the ice, where it slid to a stop a few inches onto the flat lake. “I could’ve driven off, at least tried. But I didn’t.” Dean looked up at the sky and felt tears burn at his eyes, where the moisture welled on the cusp of his eyelids. “What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I try to get away? I’m not scared of the consequences if I failed…I was scared of, oh my god, I was scared of disappointing _him._ Cas.”

 

Dean sat down on the hard ground and brought his knees up under his chin, arms wrapping themselves around his legs as the icy wind blew against him. “What’s wrong with me?”

 

Feathers offered him no answer as he stood over him, wings drooping to either side of him, shielding him from the bright colourless winter sun and wind.

 

 

«

 

 

Dean sat on the edge of the mattress as he waited for Cas. He glanced out of the window as the sun began to sink like a wrecked ship below the black line of the horizon. The shadows grew and stretched, reclaiming the land and blanketing the bedroom. As darkness was finally fully upon him, where only the faint lines of objects remained, he heard the door creak open.

 

There was the slap of bare feet against the floorboards that got closer, until he felt the mattress sink down next to him. “Why don’t you want to disappoint me?”

 

Dean groaned and let his head fall back. “I didn’t know Feathers could speak.”

 

“Yes, he can talk to me…and he doesn’t like that name you gave him. Stop avoiding the question.” Castiel finished with a growl as he inched closer to Dean, the naked heat of his thigh brushing against Dean’s jeans.

 

Dean shrugged and let a smirk paint itself over his lips. “Tough, it suits him.” Scrubbing a hand through his hair Dean sighed as Castiel began to dot the side of his neck with little kisses. “You still haven’t answered the question,” He murmured against Dean’s skin, finishing his sentence with a sharp nip to Dean’s neck, making the man hiss with the unexpected pain.

 

“There’s no point, Cas, I don’t know why I don’t want to disappoint you. Stockholm Syndrome? I hate my job and you gave me something interesting? Who the fuck knows, I just know I like you.”

 

Castiel sucked at the bite, lapping at the tender skin to taste Dean’s flesh, which still carried the hint of cinnamon and sweet apples from the soap. His deft fingers found the edges of Dean’s shirt and he peeled it over his head then threw it onto an armchair, barely visible in the night.

 

“Seeing as how I answered your question as best as I could, how about you answer mine; why’d you choose me? Out of the billions you could have gotten to come here, why pick me?”

 

Castiel’s fingers stilled from where they had been travelling over Dean’s chest, following the shallow grooves of his chest and the slight curve of his stomach. “Because you have a special type of soul,” He began, fingertip playing with Dean’s nipple. Dean groaned and leaned his body into Castiel’s. “Go on.”

 

Castiel removed his hand and Dean caught the line of his brows drawing together. “You wouldn’t understand half of it.”

 

Kicking off his shoes, Dean pushed at Castiel’s chest, making him move to the middle of the bed. There he straddled Castiel, sitting himself down on his thighs. He began to nibble at Castiel’s jaw line, feeling the prickle of stubble, and inhaled deeply through his nostrils, scenting something like saffron, sweet yet peppery and crisp like mountain air. “Go on.”

 

Shifting under him Castiel slotted his hands on Dean’s hips, palms fitting snuggly on his hipbones. “Your soul is called a Righteous soul. There are several interesting qualities to it as well as purposes. But in its basest sense it means that you have more energy, and thus, when a creature takes some it won’t kill you, if done carefully.”

 

Dean’s huffed half laugh brushed Castiel’s cheek as his lips made his way to his ear, his front teeth nipping at his earlobe. Dean’s smirk was lopsided when he felt Castiel’s hips jerk under him, his erection already pressing insistently at the inside of his thigh. He felt powerful, bending this man, this creature under him. He bit Castiel’s earlobe again and delighted when the man’s hands came up to grip his shoulders as he let out a shuddering breath. He sucked in the earlobe and licked a long stripe over the edge of his ear, “You like that, huh?” Dean murmured, “What else is a Righteous soul useful for?”

 

The hands on his shoulders tightened, just a fraction, for only a moment. “Even in the dark you’ve got no poker face, Cas, spill it.” 

 

Castiel stretches out his neck, inviting Dean to spill kisses along the length and Dean complies, licking and biting, making sure to do so harder than when Castiel did so to him. “I can’t answer that, Dean.”

 

Dean’s next bite breaks the skin, and he tastes blood well against his plump lower lip. “Don’t be a tease.”

 

The next thing Dean knows is that he’s on his back, his mind spinning as vertigo hits him for a moment. Castiel is crouched above him with his wrists pinned either side of his head. “You’re pushing it.”

 

Dean rolled his hips up, harsh cotton jeans grazing against the erection he knows that Castiel is sporting. “Give me a hint.”

 

With an exasperated groan, Castiel releases his wrists but his hands moved instead to the band of his jeans, where he snapped open the button and pulled them down, just far enough to expose Dean’s crotch. “Fine, just a hint. You can control how you release your energy.” Castiel nipped at Dean’s hips in reprimand, making the man’s breath hitch in his throat.

 

“You’re down there, aren’t you? May as well get busy.” Dean eked out, reprimanding himself as soon as the words left his lips as a blush coloured his cheeks.

 

Castiel expelled a scornful huff of air. “Might as well,” He answered as he lowered his warm, chapped lips to Dean’s hardening cock.

 

 

«

 

 

Dean was getting used to waking up alone yet feeling satiated and pleased as he stretched in the sheets like a cat lounging in the sun. As usual there was breakfast already prepared; today there were scrambled eggs, bacon and a chunk of fluffy white bread waiting to be devoured, along with a tall glass of orange juice that sat innocuously on the bedside table. Yet what drew Dean’s eyes was his mobile phone on the tray, along with a slip of what paper underneath it. Plucking out the piece of paper Dean studied the cursive letters.

 

 _Ring Sam._  
New funds have been added to his account, he won’t want for anything.  
Tell him your decision, but nothing about me.

Dean’s brow corrugated at the words, and he folded the piece of paper but kept it in his hands. His stomach flipped as he remembered the man yesterday, torn asunder before he could even scream. Placing a hand on the soft flesh of his belly Dean exhaled through his nostrils. God he wanted to speak to Sam, tell him he was okay and was going to be away for a while. He knew that now, he couldn’t escape, didn’t want to escape despite the hate that still simmered in his belly, but even now he could feel that hate turning into something else. But Sam couldn’t come here, Sam he couldn’t risk his life.

 

Swallowing his trepidation, Dean picked up his cell phone, thumb gliding over the plastic buttons as he dialed Sam’s number. His fingers clenched around the phone as he heard the tone and then the distinctive trill of the phone ringing.

 

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Sam.” Dean breathed out, smile lighting up on his face as he heard his brother’s voice.

 

_“Oh my god, Dean is that you? Jesus, it’s been days and you haven’t contacted me…I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t leave an address or-“_

“Relax, I’m fine, my battery ran flat and I didn’t have power here for a few days to charge it back up. So stop bitching at me will ya? I’m sorry.”  
Dean heard Sam breathe out a long sigh, as though he had been holding his breath.

 

_“I got a call from the bank an hour, a whole heap of money just went through. Did you manage to sell the place?”_

Dean balked, brow raised as he wondered briefly how much money Cas had managed to send and how. Instead Dean played along. “Nah, not yet, there were a whole lot of valuable antiques and jewelry in here. But, Sam, listen; I think…I think I want to stay here.”

 

The line stayed silent for several pregnant seconds. “You there?”

 

_“Yeah I’m here Dean. But how are you going to earn money? You’ve got a good job here as a paramedic.”_

“I’ve found a job out here, the pay’s great; I’m helping this guy out.” Dean closed his eyes as he prayed for Sam to not ask any questions.

 

_“What guy? You’re worrying me Dean. This isn’t like you. Come home.”_

“I’m happy, Sam, and there’s plenty of money for you to finish college. You can have the apartment all to yourself. You can let Jess move in with you. Start up your own little nest in there.”

 

_“Nice try Dean, tell me what’s going on.”_

Dean brought the phone away from his ear for a moment as he scanned the room and the view of the hallway afforded from the bed. Feathers was nowhere to be seen. “Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that the situation here is fucked up and weird.”

 

Dean heard Sam begin to speak from the other end of the line, the first high-pitched tones bespeaking of the creeping panic, “But I wasn’t lying when I said I was fine, Sammy. The guy I’m here with, I don’t know what he looks like. To be honest, the only thing I know about him is his name.”

 

_“He’s not hurting you is he? Making you do anything illegal?”_

“No. **I’m fine**. I’m happy, I want to stay.” Dean bit out as he took his glass of orange juice taking a long sip from it as he waited for Sam to speak again.

 

_“How come you don’t know what he looks like?”_

Dean’s shoulders slumped at the question as he swilled the citrus taste from his mouth with an audible swallow. “He only ever appears at night, he doesn’t put on any lights. He’s told me he doesn’t want me to see him.”

 

_“There’s a Maglite of mine in the car Dean, under the passenger seat. Use it.”_

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest as he heard the floorboards creak. “Look, I gotta go now Sam, I’ll ring you tomorrow, okay? You’ve got lectures today, so go and get ready. Stop worrying now.”

 

Dean heard an irritated huff, could practically see Sam’s brows drawing together with consternation. “Just keep calling me, Dean, or I’ll have to come find you.”

 

Dean laughed, sounding strained even to him. “I’ll call again tomorrow or the next day. See you, bitch.”

 

_“Jerk.”_

 

The line went dead with a click.

 

Feathers’ head poked through the doorway, its six eyes zeroing in on him cross-legged on the bed. Its lips twitched slightly, giving him a toothless smile. Dean smiled back, thinking of the torch in the car as he picked up the silver fork, floral patterns engraved into the handle, and shoveled onto it some of the golden scrambled eggs.

 

«

 

 

Feathers gave him space now. No longer did the creature’s humid breath tickle the back of his neck; now it merely watched at a distance, more relaxed as it found a patch of sunlight on the driveway, putting its soft belly onto the warmed gravel. The door handle clicked as Dean opened the passenger side door of the Impala, leaning down as his hand fished under the leather bench seat. His fingers were met with papers, pieces of plastic, and other detritus. He bit down on his lip as he kept his gaze on Feathers who reclined in the driveway, turning onto its back to rub its feathers onto the dusty gravel, making plumes of hazy clouds filter into the air as it twisted and writhed in pleasure.

 

Dean scoffed and turned his attention back to his search, content for the moment that he wasn’t going to be suspected of anything. He felt guilty, a backstabber. Something cold and cylindrical rolled against his skin. His heart clenched as he brought the torch out, shiny black resting on the palm of his hand. Feathers stopped rubbing its wings against the floor, bright white feathers stained grey for the moment as it rolled back onto its feet, where its wings fanned the air gently, disturbing the dust.

 

Dean pocketed the torch.

 

 

«

 

 

Dean sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed the heel of his palm over his erection, breath hitching. He’d cut the crap. Got rid of his clothes himself tonight, no longer needing Cas to strip him anymore to make him want it. He needs it now. He doesn’t think too hard on that, how he craves every touch the man deigns to give him as he lazily starts stroking the length of his hot cock, thumb playing with the head. He just lets his head loll back and eyes flutter closed as a contented sigh escapes him. All he knows now is that he needs this. He’s always liked sex. But this, this is something different.

 

The door clicks open and with it there’s an irritated hiss as Castiel bites back a groan, irritation at Dean for getting started without him and lust that he’s so _eager_ warring in him. He pads over, letting his hands glide over Dean’s freckle smattered shoulders, nipping the shell of his ear as he bends down. “You’re ready then?”

 

Dean intrinsically knows what Castiel means; the gravelly voice whispering unspoken sins into his ear has him bucking up mindlessly into his loose fist. “Yes,” He growls out from low in his throat, head still thrown backward. Dean feels himself getting half pushed, half dragged back onto the bed as Castiel crawls behind him, bringing the line of his spine flush against the plane of his chest.

 

Castiel’s hand bats Dean’s away; he squeezes just a touch too hard on the crown of his cock, which earned Castiel a muttered curse. “You won’t last if you keep stroking yourself like that.” He reprimanded as he put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, sidling out of the way as he pushed him down onto the bed.

 

Dean blinked and in that moment he saw a flash of neon blue before it was gone again, as though it were never there. He shivered as the moon caught the outline of Castiel crouched above him, his hand dipping low as he fingered himself. “Oh fuck,” Dean groaned as his eyes caught only the subtlest hint of what Cas was doing to himself, his fingers disappearing inside of himself as he kneeled on the bed. His back arched as he twisted his fingers and sped them up, creating a lewd wet sound that drove Dean crazy. He sat up and kissed Castiel, tongue pushing past his plaint lips, already half open as he breathed in with sharp little gasps as he fingered himself open. “You want my body, Dean? Fair trade for your energy isn’t it?”

 

“God yes, yes yes…” Dean muttered the mantra against Castiel’s lips, as his other hand played with his nipple, sharp jolts of electricity running through him with each play of his fingertips. His mind began to fog over with the pain and pleasure, feeling himself get lost in it as his energy was taken. He didn’t care.

 

Dean swallowed Castiel’s gasp as he added another finger, stretching the tight ring of muscles. “You’ll stay here with me, won’t you. For as long as I want.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Dean felt rage break through the fog for a moment and his teeth sliced into Castiel’s lower lip, and he hardly heard the stifled pained cry as he sucked in the sweet blood. “No, you’ll stay here with me as long as _I_ want.” Punctuating the point, Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel’s cock, fingers fumbling in the dark. He felt the coarse hairs at the base of the intense heat of the man’s flesh under his rough calluses.

 

“Dean,” The name was bitten out like a warning, but he didn’t heed it, just kept fondling the man’s cock and lapping at the sugary blood leaking from the ragged line on his lip. Castiel raked his hand down Dean’s chest, fingernails leaving red welts in their wake with bursts of lightning that made Dean lose his breath, nerves on fire. He blacked out for a tiny moment as the pain began to subside again, his head resting on the pillow. But then he felt Castiel grip his cock, and then slowly, slowly he felt heat and tightness on the head of his cock. He snapped up his hips, half delirious from the pain, but was stopped with a hand pressed to his chest. He stilled himself, fearing the pain, wanting the pleasure. It was agonizing, and Dean moaned and fisted the silk sheets in his hands. Sweat ran off his neck and chest as he felt Castiel settle against him, finally fully sheathed.

 

Castiel sat there for a moment and simply breathed, a tinny whisper-moan at the back of his throat. Dean laid his hands onto his hips, feeling the hard lines, thumbs moving into the dips where his thighs met his groin.

 

Castiel rose up on his knees, hands on Dean’s chest as he began to build up a moment, sliding up and down Dean’s cock, gyrating his hips in tight little circles as he rose. Dean resisted the urge to buck up into him and merely let the man work on him. The tingle of pain was becoming familiar and Dean began to get closer to the edge as Castiel slammed himself down on Dean with a slap of flesh and rush of air from his lungs. The electricity was building in tandem with the knot in his gut as Castiel lifted his hips again, keeping just the tip of Dean’s cock inside, and then whilst there, he angled his hips then came down again. His fingers on Dean’s chest tightened, nails biting crescent moons into his flesh.

 

Dean panted, feeling his orgasm tingling in his blood. “What do you look like Cas? God, tell me what you look like.”

 

Castiel’s fingers pinched at Dean’s nipples, sending two jolts through him. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

Then, Dean reached up, tightly fisting Castiel’s cock as he jacked him in time to Castiel’s increasingly wild rhythm, arching his back and twisting his hips, madly searching for friction. Pre come allowed Dean’s cupped palm to slide effortlessly up and down his cock and with a twist to the crown Castiel let out a guttural debauched sound that punched lust straight to Dean’s gut. Castiel tightened around him as he came, wet lines of come painting themselves on Dean’s chest as he too came inside of Castiel.

 

The sense of electricity this time was different. It felt like he was high, giddy, everything rushing out at once. He lost his breath; his heart shuddered to a stop as he spilled into Castiel, hand slipping from his sweaty hip as he tumbled over the edge.

 

Dean’s eyes peeled open a few hours later, body still thrumming with static-like pleasure. The room was still dark; the silk covers were pulled over him, sticking to his sweaty skin. He could hear Castiel sleeping next to him, a leg slotted between his. Swallowing Dean’s hand snaked under his pillow and felt the barrel of the torch. Carefully he pulled it out. He held it in his hand, thumb ghosting over the button.

 

“Don’t Dean, _please_.”

 

Dean’s grip tightened on the torch, the harsh crisscross of the grip imprinting itself into his skin. “Are you begging me?”

 

“Yes.” The answer came with no hesitation. “What if I gave you answers instead. Why I can’t allow you to see me. Then you can decide.”

 

Dean licked his lips, tasting salt. “Alright, spill it.”

 

He heard the hint of a growl at the command, the sheets slipped against his skin as Castiel sat up in the large bed. “I’m an angel.” He declared, voice deadpan.

 

Dean began to smile, expecting the punch line, yet when the silence stretched on the smiled cracked. “Seriously?”

 

The sheets whispered as Castiel crossed his legs. “Yes, unlike my brothers and sisters I’ve been trapped on Earth against my will.”

 

“So,” Dean began as he processed the words, “You’re a fallen angel?”

 

Castiel’s hand shot out, an adder’s strike as his fingers latched onto Dean’s throat, fingers curling tight around his windpipe. “I have not _fallen._ ” He hissed out, sudden rage so consuming that it took him a moment to notice the fingernails furrowing into his skin as Dean struggled against his hand.

 

With a huff of contempt Castiel released him and the sound of choked laboured breathing filtered into the room. “Fucking hell Cas,” Dean wheezed, “Wasn’t like that was an absurd guess.”

 

“I’m _trapped,_ not fallen. My brother decided to consign me here, away from the choirs of my brothers and sisters…I miss them.” Those last three words were spoken with a tremble, the gravelly voice going soft and tender. The throbbing pain binding Dean’s throat was forgotten for the moment as he listened. “There is no crueler punishment for an angel to be ripped away from Heaven, from the angelic family. We are not meant to be alone. We are meant to be with each other, to sing to be on the same wavelength. Here, I hear nothing, as though I am deaf.”

 

Castiel sighed and tenderly he rubbed his fingers over Dean’s throat, healing the bruised flesh. “I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t mean to…”

 

Dean sighed as the pain fled, “Don’t worry, I know how it feels to be ripped from your family.” Castiel said nothing; just let his fingers continue massaging small circles and patterns into Dean’s throat long after the healing was complete.

 

“You said your brother did this to you?” Dean inquired as he crowded in close to Castiel, seeking his heat, as his skin became puckered with the cold. “You will have heard of him, his name is Lucifer.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened at the name. “Satan? Why’d he do this to you?”

 

There was a click of teeth as Castiel clenched his jaw in the murky room. “That is a name humans have given him. But, he cursed me to stay on Earth when I refused to be a part of his rebellion. We loved each other greatly; I favoured him over all of other brothers and sisters. He was radiant, interesting… _different_. Oh so unique. But when he came to me asking to turn my back on my Father’s plans, to turn against humanity; I could not do it.”

 

Dean laid a gentle kiss on Castiel’s cheek, “Why couldn’t you? You loved him.”

 

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “Because humanity is wonderful and unique as well, more so than Lucifer. You humans are capable of such wonderful and terrible things, and I wanted to witness it. I love my Father too; it was a terrible decision to make but an easy one. As a consequence he put this curse on me, where if a person sees my human form I am stuck here. It was his idea of irony; choose humanity over him but at the cost of never seeing them.”

 

“So that’s why you appear to me at night? Can’t have me seeing you, otherwise you’ll be stuck here.” Dean thought aloud whilst he threaded a hand through his hair, a headache blooming in his skull like a balloon being filled.

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Wait, human form?”

 

Castiel remained silent next to him but he flinched when he heard Dean shudder in a gasp. “You’re _Feathers_!”

 

“I told you I don’t like that name didn’t I?” Castiel remarked drily, as though bored by the revelation.

 

“I shouldn’t believe all this crazy crap, but with everything else…” Dean trailed off, tongue turned to sandpaper in his mouth.

 

The warm pressure of Castiel’s fingertips left the flesh of his throat, “But that’s why I needed you, the others before you. I need your energy in order to gain enough strength to face Lucifer, I’m not strong enough to face him as I am now, but I’m close. And I need a Righteous soul to face him.”

 

Dean’s hand sought out Castiel’s and when he found it he interlaced his digits with Castiel’s long delicate fingers. “Why have you gotta have one of those?”

 

Castiel’s hand went tense under him, knuckles pressing up against Dean’s palm. “Because an angel can’t kill another angel. So I’ll need you to help me break my curse.”

 

Dean felt anxiety bottle his breath in his throat, a lump that made his words catch as he spoke. “You want me to kill Lucifer? I don’t know how you expect me to do that, Cas.”

 

The tender brush of lips met the creases lining his forehead, Castiel’s other hand tugging the torch free from his lax grip. Then there was a crunch as the torch was destroyed the pieces falling forgotten to the floorboards with a clatter. “I already know you can do it. You harmed me when you hit my armour plating. That light that shuddered, that was my true form, reeling from the punch.”

 

Dean smirked but didn’t feel it reach his eyes. “You had it coming.”

 

“Worry not, it will only take a few days to train you. In the meantime however I will disable any technology; you won’t be able to phone Sam. And I can’t risk you seeing my human form. But after your training I will summon Lucifer. Then… then we can both go home.” A happy, contented sigh whispered across Dean’s cheek as Castiel laid his head down on the pillow with a twitch to the curve of his mouth.

 

Dean stared up into the impenetrable darkness hanging over him. He wasn’t smiling.

 

 

«

 

 

Something hard and heavy was deposited on his chest, which acted as his wake up call that morning. Scrubbing the cobwebs of sleep filtering his eyesight, Dean craned his neck to look at the item on his chest. It was a leather bound tome, white creases on the cover and dog-eared pages betrayed its age, and as Dean picked it up the old skin was soft and supple against his fingers, and the smell of yellowed paper met his nose.

 

He flipped open the cover and a note slipped out. On it he read the following words.

 

_This is a book of Enochian (angelic) spells. I have marked the words I want you to learn. Do NOT read from the final chapter under any circumstances._

 

“Guess I’ll be starting at the back,” Dean murmured as he leafed through the pages, he paused however, when he heard a growl from the doorway; Castiel’s four legged form prowled into the room, lips peeling back to display the saliva slick fangs.

 

“I was joking of course, Cas.” Dean said through a shit-eating grin as he flipped the pages back to the beginning, to the chapter entitled, _Sigils._ The pages were littered with strange symbols that seemed to move and change like ink on water. Smoothing his palm over the page, Dean stared at the first symbol and watched as the lines stopped moving, stilling themselves under his gaze. The meaning of the first word popped into his head, an ancient thought hidden at the back of his mind, “Control.”

 

A gasp was punched out at him; he doubled over in the bed, feeling a hot sweat break over his skin, suddenly overcome with fever. He laid his hand over his belly, fingernails scratching at the pliant flesh. Pained garbled words broke from his tongue as he leaned over the side of the bed and retched in dry heaves, nothing leaving him. After a few more seconds the sensation began to pass, leaving him weak and shivering, muscles turned to jelly. Castiel used his snout to push at his written note. Quirking a brow, Dean flicked it over on the sheets and read the rest of the note.

 

_When you learn a word, you learn it in a physical sense. This can be a painful process, do not push yourself. Once you have learnt a word you need to practice it by visualizing it. Tonight I will teach you how to channel the words you learn today._

Castiel’s six eyes blinked at him.

 

“You’re such an asshole.” Dean whispered as he let his eye fall to the next word, gut churning with trepidation as he did. This word squirmed, a worm skewered on a hook. At first it looked like a triangle, and then, just as the points were about to meet, it shivered and ballooned out, becoming a square. Dean narrowed his eyes with a hiss through his clenched teeth. Reluctantly the shape changed once more, becoming a perfectly rounded circle. Dean read the word “Shape.”

 

This time it felt as if his skin was too tight, organs too big and pushing at his bones, everything inside of him expanding too much, far too much to fit within the pillowcase of his skin. He fell back against the pillows and his back arched as a silent scream trembled on his lips. This went quicker than the last and he felt himself relax, fall back against the mattress. As he lay there and panted, Cas closed the tome with a talon and watched him carefully.

 

He closed his bottle green eyes and let himself fall between the crack of slumber and waking, floating there on the periphery. Vaguely he was aware of Castiel’s wing thrown over him, the glimmering white feathers tickling over his skin as he shivered in the cold, sheets thrown off him as he tossed and turned.  

 

After what felt like minutes but was in fact hours, Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows, letting the great wing fall off him in a hush of feathers rubbing against one another. He reached over to the side table and grabbed a glass of water, pads of his fingers slipping on the cool perspiration sliding down the long elegant glass. After taking a sip Dean sent a glare over at Castiel, eyes raking over the shining armoured chest and the tail that flicked lazily from side to side, whilst its furred flanks contracted and expanded with its breaths. “You know you don’t have to guard me all the time. I’m not going to run away, and I haven’t had a single fucking moment to myself.”

 

Castiel’s head tilted to the side and his tail stopped its lazy momentum. He took a moment but then he stood and left the room, fanlike feather at the tip of its tail the last glimpse that Dean saw. Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair, rubbing it into spikes that stuck from last night’s sweat that stubbornly lingered.

 

He turned back to the book whilst smothering a yawn with his hand. His fingers hovered over the pages; he chewed the inside of his lip as his fingertips moved to the headband of the book. What was the harm in looking?  Giving a perfunctory glance to the door he turned to the back of the book, to the chapter entitled _Summoning_. He made a surprised noise as he skimmed down the page. Unlike the other chapters there were only a few symbols and on the edge of the thick paper there was a note. The handwriting was nothing like the elegant curves and flourishes of Castiel’s script; this writing was neat and unassuming, the letters indented as the tip of the biro pressed into the soft old pages.

 

It read simply as:

 

_If you’re reading this I failed. Good luck, I’m sorry._

-       _J_

Dean’s fingertip traced over the writing, breath hitching at the base of his throat. He wasn’t the first horse to see this rodeo then; Cas had failed before, been wrong. Dean felt a cold panic descend upon him, breaths coming shorter. Was this why Castiel hadn’t wanted him to look at the final chapter? Inhaling a deep breath Dean tasted the lavender in the air, the spice of wood varnish as he forced his shaking fingers to still where they whispered against the book. He wasn’t going to die, couldn’t, and… and he wanted Cas. A plan formed itself in his mind, coming together like a tapestry on its frame.

 

His gaze landed on the first symbol. This one came easy, was like water that swirled in a cup but soon settled without sloshing over the brim. It settled and Dean read the word aloud, feeling it stir that sent a shiver through him. “Appear.”

He scrunched his eyes closed and gritted his teeth, waiting for fire and pain to rain through him, tear his nerves apart like a capricious child pulling out the fibers of a rope, but this time none came. Just a lethargy that pulled him back against the bed, made his breathing come shallow and relaxed. Yet sleep didn’t come. With a lazy flick of his hand Dean closed the book.  

 

 

«

 

“Wake up.”

 

Dean flicked open his eyes, having never slept. He had watched the sun burn low on the horizon, the moon makes its silver tracing across the sky, a tiny cut of light on the black canvas of night.

 

Dean flexed his fingers and wriggled his toes and swallowed the sigh as he felt them respond. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed Dean’s bare feet met the polished wooden floorboards. He saw the lithe silhouette of Castiel’s body pass by him as he crossed to the window and drew the curtains, plunging them into utter darkness. Dean jumped when he felt a hand touch his face and then fabric come to a rest across his eyes. “Why am I being blindfolded if I can’t see?”

 

Castiel’s fingers brushed the back of his head as he made a knot and then, with a hiss of the fabric, he drew the knot tight. “Because we’re not staying here. You might damage the room and I quite like it.”

 

Dean huffed and let his hand fall on Castiel’s skin, palm smoothing over his arm until he found the hard steady line of his shoulder. His grip tightened as Castiel stood from his kneeling positioning, bringing Dean with him. Dean’s hand stayed there, comfortable and warm on his shoulder as he led him from the room. Castiel’s hand fell on his, fingers interlacing on the curve of his bones. “Stairs, careful.”

 

Dean just nodded and internally chastised himself as he realised Castiel wouldn’t have seen. He used Castiel for support as he blindly walked down the stairs and felt the cold granite meet his feet. The manor was quiet, his own breathing loud in his ears as he stepped onto plush carpets and felt the brush of furniture against his hip. “More stairs,” Castiel uttered in time with the creak of a door. Cold air rushed up, the smell of damp and earth met Dean’s nostrils. “A cellar?”

 

“Yes, there’s nothing delicate for you to break down there.”

 

Dean shivered as he descended the stairs and Castiel tightened his grip on his hand. Soon the steps receded and gave way to the flat floor. From behind his blindfold Dean saw a pale light, an eldritch blue blossom in the room. “You can take your blindfold off now.”

 

The room was plain, a cold stone floor and nondescript walls, no shelves, no detritus of the years of living in one place. Dean swallowed and approached the only item he could see, where the strange light hung, it bobbed as though floating on water. The table was roughly hewn, a dark almost black wood that was icy cold to the touch. On it were several sticks of stark white chalk. Dean picked up one of the pieces of chalk and rolled it in his hands, letting the dust of it coat his calluses.

 

“How many words did you learn?” Castiel’s voice inquired form the dark. “Two.” Dean answered without pause.

 

The moment stretched on and Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot. “That is not a bad effort, the same as Jimmy and Emmanuel, though I thought you would have been capable of three. No matter,” Castiel let out in a purr, “I want you to write the first letter, control on the table. After some practice you should be able to visualize it in your head, but writing it out is much easier.”

 

Dean pursed his lips as he nodded; he let the chalk’s tip touch the table and with a few white marks scratched onto the surface of the ebony table the sigil for control. When he drew the final line he felt the wood shudder, legs groaning under the weight of the spell.

 

The will-o-the-wisp floating above him burned brighter for a moment, exposing Castiel’s frame in the corner of the room for a moment and then a tiny droplet left the sphere and dripped onto the table with a wet slap.

 

“Now, put your hand on the table and concentrate on that piece of energy. Try and make it move.”

 

Dean obeyed the instructions as he laid his hand plat against the chalked sigil and stared down at the little droplet on the table. After a moment it shivered then slowly started to crawl across the surface of the table, leaving a glowing residue in its wake. Dean grinned, whites of his teeth stained blue by the light.

 

“Excellent.” If Castiel’s voice was breathy and held a touch of awe, Dean didn’t comment on it, merely concentrated on making the droplet make lazy circles and patterns, drawings that stained the back of his eyelids, gone in a few blinks like a child with a sparkler. “For the first few days you must always draw this sigil when using another, it’s your training wheels. Now, draw the sigil for shape. Then I want you to make that droplet into a sphere.”

 

Dean let his hand slip away from the sigil for control as he reached for a piece of chalk. This symbol was a mix of triangles and circles, an interlaced snowflake that had Dean swearing under his breath as he rubbed away several of the lines. Eventually though, the symbol was complete.

 

“First, place your hand on control. Then, with your other hand put it on shape. _Not_ at the same time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean drawled as he slapped his right hand, silver ring glinting in the shadows on control and his left on shape. “A sphere, right?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Fingers curling against the table Dean stared, brows knitting together. The tiny dab of energy wobbled and wriggled as though being poked. Exhaling through his clenched teeth Dean felt a headache pushing at his skull as he continued to stare.

 

“Relax.”

 

Dean sent a glare in Castiel’s general direction, then brought his gaze back to the table. He rolled his shoulders, felt the stiff line of his back smooth into a delicate curve as he lent more of his weight onto his hands. The dot wavered and sinuously curled in upon itself, becoming a pearl that effused a cool light.

 

 The headache ebbed as Dean held the energy in a ball. “Well done Dean, you can rest now.”

 

Dean’s canine peeked out over his lip as he narrowed his focus on the energy again, Castiel’s voice becoming background static. This time he visualized a pyramid. The slides flattened, turned to slopes that ended at a sharp point. Smirking Dean let it became a flat circle and then imagined a honeycomb, a hollow hexagon. The flat circle rolled up onto its side and twisted, blossoming into the desired shape. “How’s that?”

 

Fingers curled at the nape of his neck, hot breath whispered against the shell of his ear. “Excellent, more than I ever thought possible.”

 

Dean let out a gasp; the hexagon fell apart and pattered against the table. Castiel’s hands fixed themselves on Dean’s hips, his chapped lips nibbling along the shell of his ear. A shiver tracked down Dean’s skin as Castiel licked at the soft spot of skin behind Dean’s ear. “You’re showing off.”

 

Dean craned his neck, twisting to see Castiel, heart leaping into the base of his throat. The light snuffed out, plunging them into darkness when Dean glimpsed the tanned shape of an ear, the hint of a high cheekbone. “ _Dean_ ”, Castiel’s voice came, reprimanding him as his fingers tightened into the dip of his hips, nails biting through his cotton black shirt.

 

“Ah, Cas…” Dean let out as he was pushed against the table, thighs hitting the unforgiving edge. “I give you a lot of freedom Dean Winchester, do not make me regret giving them to you.”

 

The warmth of Castiel’s hands left him. When Dean made his way into the bedroom again, Castiel wasn’t there. He stripped to his boxers and slid into bed. His hand wandered to his chest, where a weight was compressed onto his lungs, making every breath a struggle. He curled up onto his side, hands balled into fists.

 

It was hours later, Dean knew, when Castiel finally joined him. Immediately Dean turned over, arms wrapping themselves around Castiel’s chest. He littered kisses over him, blind, tasting his clean skin and the hint of lavender in the silky tresses of his hair. Castiel remained silent, let him feel and touch the expanse of his skin and merely let his nails trace circles on his back. Dean huffed out breaths against him, body wrecked as though he had run a marathon. Castiel’s cheek brushed against Dean’ with a hiss of stubble, he planted kisses on Dean’s eyelids and he felt them tingle, knew there were sigils on them.

 

“It’s a blindness spell Dean, it will only be in effect at night. I can’t let you see me.”

 

Dean felt a sob, the barest traces of shapes and colours lent to him by the moon being robbed by the spell. Everything faded away, only touch, smell and sounds remained. Dean clung to Castiel, listened to him breath and the hard knob of his knee connecting with his shin. He brought Castiel tighter against him, felt tears burn at him. “I just, I want to see your face.”

 

Castiel’s laugh was mirthless. “That will never happen, Dean.”

 

Dean couldn’t let go, as something nameless sunk its claws into him, something that felt a lot like hate but also a lot like love.

 

 

«

 

 

As soon as Dean woke, he moved. He flung the sheets back and crossed over to the vanity. He saw himself in the mirror. It was a stranger that stared back at him, not the paramedic that lived for his brother, that felt guilt with every life that passed under his hands. No, the man that looked back at him had bright green eyes, polished shade where before they were discs of discarded bottles rubbed dull by the sand of the shore. His skin was golden as the blood simmered hot underneath. His hair was disheveled, crowning his temple and ears with brunette spikes. His mouth split into a grin.

 

Tearing his gaze away he threw open a drawer and found a crystal inkwell. He brought out onto the surface and unscrewed the decorative golden top, uncaring for when it fell onto the floor. He heard the stairs creak. Hurriedly he dipped two fingers into the ink, slathered his skin and then set himself to his task. He drew control, lines wobbling and askew, nothing like the neat lines of chalk. His fingers dripped dark dots as he moved to the left and drew another sigil. This one came easier, so quick that his fingers glided over the table. He drew Appear.

 

He slapped his palm against Control and then Appear and stared into the mirror. “Lucifer.”

 

Nothing happened, no crack of lightning, the earth didn’t move nor did the sky change hue. Dean’s fingers slipped in the inky sigils as he smacked his forehead hard against the mirror, he felt it crack against him, tiny fragments tinkled against the backs of his hands. He opened his mouth and felt the beginnings of a hoarse scream scratching at him. Blood trickled down the mirror and joined the ink, bathing his hands in red and black.

 

He looked back into the mirror and saw a man.

 

Whipping around Dean swallowed the ball of tension lodged in his throat. Translucent gold wings sprouted from his back, ghostly limbs that passed through furniture as they gently fanned the air. His startling blue eyes fell on Dean, hand running through his shock of blonde hair as he rocked back on his heels. “You’re the new model then, huh?”

 

Bringing a hand out from his hair he gestured to his hands that dripped ink onto the floor. “I’m guessing little blue bird doesn’t know about this huh?”

 

Dean blinked away a bead of blood as it landed on the frame of his lashes. “No.” Dean answered, remaining still as the sensation of being so insignificant and small clothed him. 

 

“Oh, he’ll know now though, he’s on his way.” Lucifer raised his hand and clicked his fingers, Dean’s toes curled in the short grass outside, by the fringes of the petite graveyard. “Now,” Lucifer began, “We have a minute to speak…What is it that you want?”

 

Dean felt the angel’s voice reverberate in him, and he felt the compulsion to be as honest as possible. “I want Cas to stay here. I don’t want him to break the curse. I want him.”

 

Lucifer’s lips peeled back like a wolf baring his fangs as he grinned. “Cas has really done a number on you, hasn’t he? What about your brother Sammy?”

 

It didn’t occur to Dean to find it strange that Lucifer knew of Sam. “I want Sam to be taken care of, I want him to be happy.”

 

Lucifer steepled his fingers under his chin. “This really is more than I could have hoped for with my curse. For a human that Cassie has clearly taken a liking to, if the fact that you still have the use of all of your limbs and no chains are in sight are any indicator. I’ll grant you your wishes, I can’t really think of anything worse. Castiel is stopped for all time from re-entering Heaven and it’s one of his precious humans that does the deed, for his own selfish designs no less.”

 

At precisely that moment Castiel appeared, sides heaving with his breaths. Lucifer turned to face him, beatific smile on his lips as he soaked in his beastly form. “You’ve lost, little brother. You are the agent of your own downfall. I can sense that you love this man and he loves you as well, so much that he wants to trap you here. Isn’t that ironic?”

 

Castiel’s six azure eyes went to Dean, his wings drooped at his sides, flight feathers brushing the ground. Dean tiled his chin upward, defiant.

 

Castiel’s maw opened in a roar, talons gouging into the soil as his jaws snapped at Lucifer. Lucifer smiled and curled his fingers, and then with a yank, twisted his wrist to the side. Without touching him Castiel whimpered and fell to his side, writhing in agony.

 

Lucifer blinked next to him with a hush of feathers, tip of his finger delicately touching the bottom of Dean’s chin. All he could manage was stare, be entranced by the ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from every pore.

 

“Here.”

 

Something hard was pushed into his chest and Dean numbly reached for it, nails sliding against cool, hard rock. When the finger left his chin, nail catching the edge, he looked down. In his hand he cradled a small egg-like object. It was golden and hummed with a strange cadence.

 

“Keep it with you and use it tonight. It will merely take a tap to open.”

 

Castiel whined as he stood on his legs that shivered underneath him, white feathers crunched and disheveled. He panted, sides heaving, and Dean saw blood dripping freely from his mouth. Dean looked away and kept his grip firm on the egg. “Thank you, Dean,” Lucifer murmured as he retreated a step, arms spread wide, “You’ve proved me right; humans are selfish, loathsome creatures, and Castiel should have allied himself with me.”

 

His transparent golden wings arched over his head as he stepped over to Castiel, laying a palm on his animalistic jaw, fingers caressing the fur. “I’m sorry that you were wrong, brother.” Castiel’s eyes closed as Lucifer leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his temple. The long grasses swayed as Lucifer disappeared.

 

Castiel limped forward and pressed his nose into Dean. Pocketing the egg, Dean ducked down slightly, slotting his shoulder under his maw as he wrapped his arms around his thick neck. “I’m sorry, Cas,” He spoke into the fur, “I can’t let you leave.” Dean felt something hot on his shoulder and trickle down his arm and when he glanced down at it, vermillion lines bathed him. Castiel pulled away, jerking his neck free from Dean’s grasp.

 

He went and slumped down on the threshold of the chapel.

 

Dean hung his thumbs over the waist of his jeans as guilt thrummed in him. He began his walk back to the manor, desperate to look behind him to see if Castiel was following him, and when he reached the threshold he couldn’t resist the urge and he turned on his heel. Castiel was still there, great form curled in upon itself, looking impossibly small. Dean wandered into the kitchen, mind curiously blank as he opened drawers and cupboards with the fatigued creaks and moans of wood. He got together a smattering of food, a random assortment of pastries and cold foods from the stone slab in the larder, as well as fresh fruits and vegetables. Now the appearance of foods wasn’t such a mystery; if he could summon Lucifer, Cas could surely summon a few household items. Untucking a kitchen towel from where it hung on the oven door, he bundled up the foods and tied a knot in the top. He carried the foods, as well as his thermos, which he filled with warm water, and took it back outside. The wind had picked up, the scant vegetation on the property bowed under the howling, and a few white spots were lurid blotches on the dying grasses. One of the ivory spots came towards him and lodged itself on the edge of his boot. It was a feather.

 

As he got closer to Castiel his pace quickened. Castiel’s mouth was upon his wings, fangs ripping out great chunks of his plumage and committed them to the wind, tips tinged with the hint of blood.

 

“Stop it, Cas,” He implored as he got within earshot, hands immediately letting go of his foods as he reached for the angel’s wings. Castiel raised his head and bared his fangs, tongue licking over his fangs with a predatory warning.

 

Dean reached out towards the wings despite the threat, fingers combing over the fresh tracks of crimson that stained the fluffy downy feathers. “I’m sorry Cas,” he quaked as he rubbed the blood onto his skin. From within his pocket Dean withdrew a cloth, which stunk of antiseptic, the same one he used to wipe his hands after a shift. He ran it along the soft, pale flesh of Castiel’s wing. The green plaid soon shifted colours and the rumble of Castiel’s growl died into a sorrowful whimpering.

 

“It won’t be so bad. I’ll make you happy again, like you did with me.”

 

Castiel shifted under him and Dean took it as a good sign, his voice growing stronger with conviction. “We’ll spend days in bed, make ourselves feel good…and I’ll bake you my mom’s apple pie, you haven’t ever tasted anything so good, Cas, I swear. Sam will come on his summer break here, with Jess even. We’ll be happy, a family, God, Cas that’s all I want.”

 

“I was so unhappy, I was dead, Cas. I failed so many people…I was failing Sam. It’s selfish I know but here I’m learning to live again, even if I have to trap you here to have it.”

 

Dean settled against Castiel’s bulk, the heat of his grace soaking into his bones as he felt the huge lungs inhale and exhale. Dean’s hand lingered on the soft flesh of his wing and progressed along the arch with the cloth, tickling as it went. “Aren’t you looking forward to it, Cas?”

 

In response Castiel lifted his head and turned his eyes upon him.

 

“Cos I am.”

 

Dean sat there and stretched out his legs, his arm tired from hours of cleaning the wing, which prompted him to bring it down and let it rest in his lap, stained cloth held loosely in his grip. He stretched out his legs in front of him as he rested the back of his head against Castiel’s side. He watched the sky grow darker, felt the winter chill at the edges, protected by the furnace inside of Castiel. He let his gaze wander over the land, tracking to the tops of the mountains, to the flat expanse of the frozen lake that reflected the blues and steely greys of the sky and he let his roaming sight settle on the manor and see the imperfections; the cracked slate tiles on the roof, the ivy growing between the stones in the wall, the dusty green veneer that clung to the copper pipes. He could fix them all, yeah. He was good at that always had been. But he also saw the beauty, looked upon it with fresh eyes. This was no longer a prison to detest nor a thing to be sold, this was home now; the sad angels weeping on pedestals at the iron gates at the top of the gravel driveway, the arched stone entranceway that hugged the thick oak doors, the massive glass windows that afforded a view of the interior with its dusty statues and hanging wrought iron chandeliers. It was his now, just like Castiel was.

 

The sky turned rouge and pink, violets painting the pebbles on the lake’s edge. Castiel shifted under him and Dean felt the shudder course through his form, still weakened.

 

“I’ll see you inside then, Cas.” Dean murmured as he twisted, rocks poking into his hip as he laid his lips on Castiel, fingers running through the thick fur. Dean’s heart leapt in his chest as the angel stood on his four legs and walked away from him and disappeared behind the wall of the chapel. He pushed himself to his feet, picked up the remainders of the food he had collected, having half eaten various pieces during the course of the day, and made his way back towards the manor.

 

The manor was eerily quiet when he stepped in, the old groans and whines of the structure gone this evening as the sun dipped over the low line of the horizon and the moon shimmering from behind the veil of fading daylight.  The grey stone floors were imbued with a soft pink pastel as Dean toed off his boots and hung his coat up on the hook by the door. Every time he stood in the doorway was his first, for he always saw new things, and this occasion was no different. A small painting was sequestered in the corner, the edge poking out from behind a walnut chest. He stooped over and ran his fingers over the gilded frame and on the canvas he saw a painting that either hailed form or took inspiration from the Romantic painters where the harsh bleakness of the cliff face looked over a valley of whimsical cotton wool like fog. Dean gently breathed onto the painting and placed it on top of the chest. He left it there as he walked up the stairs, anxiety, excitement, and the wriggling worm of guilt all fighting for possession of his heart.

 

Once he reached the bedroom he shucked off his jeans but left on his shirt, fine hairs rising on his skin as he waited. The sun still ebbed on the cusp of the earth and it seemed to hang there and hold its breath. Eventually the sun passed away and let the shadows lengthen. The room became obscured in darkness and Dean looked at his wrist, seeing the faint neon arrows on the face of his watch. They crawled agonizingly along. Finally, he heard footsteps on the stairs.

 

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” Dean committed to the air, golden egg resting in the palm of his left hand.

 

“There’s no point resisting, really,” Came Castiel’s cool, collected voice. “I could hide for weeks, months, and it wouldn’t make a difference. I would know that you were waiting for me and I would not be able to resist, even if it means the fulfillment of my brother’s curse.”

 

Dean felt the springs in the mattress compress and shift as Castiel crawled onto it, but Dean perched on the edge, still holding his gift-curse. “I gotta do this.”

 

“So you keep telling me, or yourself; I don’t suppose it matters which.”

 

Dean pulled himself onto the bed, feet leaving the floor. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

 

He sat on the back of his calves, knees digging into the silk sheets. He could hear Castiel’s breathing; they were short little gasps that plucked at the strings of his heart.

 

“ _Please,_ Dean, you don’t have to do this. Don’t do this to me.”

 

Dean heard a wrecked sob.

 

“I want to go home.”

 

“This is home now, Cas, for both of us.”

 

Dean’s index finger followed the curve of the egg until it reached the rounded top. He raised his finger and then with a tap he heard a crack. The shell fell away, exposing the yolk inside, a modest sized sphere of yellow light that flooded the room with its gentle glow.

 

When Dean saw Castiel for the first time, it was his tear-streaked countenance. Bright blue eyes blazing hot, ringed with the redness. The chapped lips that Dean had felt but could only imagine were parted slightly with a melancholy whimper, his hair that Dean had threaded his fingers through was disheveled with tufts of it having been rubbed into spikes.

 

Dean let the light fall from his hands, where it rolled onto the bed. The golden light highlighted Castiel’s cheekbones, the straight line of his nose, and accentuated his tanned complexion. Dean rested his hands on his cheeks, thumbs coming to a rest under the lids of his eyes, catching the tremble of moisture on their cusp. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flicked upwards and met his, sapphire and jade gazes locked together. “How…how can you say that when I will never see my family again. I have truly fallen.”

 

Dean silenced him with a tender kiss to his temple and let his lips trace over the contours of his face, tasting the salt of his tears and the harsh line of his mouth. “I can say it because you have me instead, now.”

 

Castiel’s arms came around Dean, hugging him tightly, erring on the precipice of pain as he tucked his head under Dean’s chin. Through the sobbing that soaked the rounded collar of his shirt Dean heard, “I’ll never hear them sing again.”

 

Dean smiled and licked his hips and wound his arms around Castiel, ensconcing him within his frame.

 

“ _Hey Jude, don't make it bad._  
Take a sad song and make it better.  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
Then you can start to make it better.”

 

Dean drew the circle for Control on the curve of Castiel’s back as he sang, fingers running over the knuckles of his spine.

 

Castiel’s sobs died out but he stayed in his arms as the last notes of _Hey Jude_ faded from Dean’s lips.

«

 

 

Jess screamed as Sam splashed her, the cool waters of the lake slapping onto her stomach as she waded out into the depths. Sam grinned at her as he waded in the lake. The sun blazed overhead and made his waterlogged hair gleam and hazel eyes dance with mirth. Jess jumped into the deeper waters and threw her arms around Sam’s neck and playfully scrubbed her knuckles into his scalp, which heralded an undignified squeal from him and a burble of laughter from her.

 

Dean stood on the shore, stripped down to a pair of smart olive green shorts that came to his knees and a simple grey shirt that clung to his muscled frame. Castiel watched his back from the wooden bench that had found its home by the waterside. The smile Dean turned upon his was radiant and cut through the fugue clouding his mood. Castiel rolled his shoulders and leant back in the seat as Dean approached, bare feet cushioned by the new verdant shoots of grass that stubbornly pushed through the soil.

 

“You look sad,” Dean commented as he sat down next to him, gaze tracking Sam and Jess as they swam in the lake, heads bobbing near the buoy that tiled lazily in the breeze. Castiel hummed low in his throat and reached out for Dean’s hand. Dean gave it to him, he always gave it to him; Cas needed constant contact now. Castiel turned his face up to the sky and watched the clouds that scudded above them, wispy things that curled and rippled like sand dunes. “I’m not as sad as I used to be.”

 

Dean’s nails cut into the back of his hand as his grip tightened on him. _You’re mine_. “You’re just a little homesick.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you want me to sing for you?”

 

Castiel finally smiled and kissed his jailor on the cheek, eyelids eclipsing the blues of his eyes. “Later.”

 

Dean sidled closer, bone of his hip grazing Castiel’s, who wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and smart suit trousers, but his feet were bare and his toes curling in the grass. “Sam’s summer break finishes in a few days.” Castiel began as he watched Jess clamber up onto the buoy and leap from it with a delighted squeal, golden locks glimmering when they caught the afternoon sun. “I’ll miss him when he has to go back, and Jess. But then we have the place to ourselves. I get to have you exactly how I like.”

 

Castiel’s Adam ‘s apple bobbed as he swallowed and Dean savored the sight, leaning over to lick a line over his fluttering pulse. With his other hand he drew the sigil for Calm on his inner thigh and he felt the muscle relax, spread slightly so that his hand could wander freely. “Forget about Heaven, you serve me now.”

 

Castiel dipped his head and laid a hand against his chest. “My Grace feels heavy and yet hot, and I feel something sour at the back of my throat; yet my heart skips when I see you. I don’t understand.”

 

Dean smirked, a dangerous tilt to his lip. “You don’t need to.”

 

The lake lapped against the stones.


End file.
